


Part 4 – Desperation

by Nesrie, Paladin (Nesrie)



Series: Home [4]
Category: Red Dead Redemption (Video Games)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Light Angst, M/M, Supernatural Elements
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-29
Updated: 2019-07-28
Packaged: 2020-03-26 16:28:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 29,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19009516
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nesrie/pseuds/Nesrie, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nesrie/pseuds/Paladin
Summary: John goes to town leaving his family behind, including Arthur, and he just might have overestimated how ready they are for the trip, especially when he runs into an unusual delay.





	1. Chapter 1 – Fast Travel

**Author's Note:**

> I'll admit the POV changes and the fact there are multiples is a little unusual but, well I wanted to. heh!

He’d said he was going to town, just to pick up a few thigs. They kissed, and John left on a wagon; everything seemed fine, but that was five days ago. Each morning Arthur walked out onto the covered part of the porch and just gazed at the muddy path that once led to the family home and out to not one but now two gates. It’d been raining for days now and the trail began to disappear more and more each day. Two days John said, there and back plus maybe a day to load the wagon, five at most, the real number, the real expectation. Dusk arrived and there remained no sign of him. He’d been a goddamn fool to believe that, a real dumb ass to think that John Marston would go to town, not want Arthur to go with him, and actually expect him to return like he said. 

“You staring at that muddy trail ain’t going to make him come home any faster Arthur. Supper’s getting cold. Why don’t you come on in?”

He glanced at her, noticing she’d put her hair up today, and the dress she wore was pressed and one of the newer ones, one purchased. Despite Abigail’s words, he knew she was waiting for him too and with just a bit too much blush on. “I ate this morning.”

“Arthur…”

Abigail knew not to push, some days, other days, it was like this. He had no appetite, not for Abigail’s cooking, or riding or even fishing and hunting. Everything just tasted like saw dust in his mouth, even whiskey, and they didn’t have much of that left. John said he intended to get some in town. John said a lot of things. 

“Well at least come inside; I got the fire going, and Jack’s practicing his reading. He’d probably like it if you heard him read. He doesn’t stumble on as many words since you’ve been correcting him.” She sounded hopeful, real hopeful.

Arthur shook his head and walked away to the stables. When he stepped into his stall, their stall, he found little comfort even with the scent of horses mingled with the touch and smell of straw and hay. Everything he had in his life now seemed touched by John, even this once sparse sanctuary, but he settled for the night anyway. He’d slept in worse and been treated a lot more unfair than one lover just not coming home one night. Hell, John would have to push him into more dangerous situations, go after him with a pair of scissors and break his heart a dozen or so more times to even reach the top of that miserable list. Maybe, maybe the man with the worst luck in the world and who couldn’t cook up a full plan if his meals depended on it broke a wheel or an axle and some kind soul might just wander his way and help. At least John remained one of the fastest shots he’d ever seen, even if he wasn’t trying. When he was trying, well that piece-of-shit Micah stood no chance; that’s for certain. It’d take at least a dozen men to take John Marston down for good, and these days, the law hung more than a dozen outlaws a day, so it wouldn’t be long before he imagined they’d just run out. So maybe, maybe six or seven days without luck, and the younger man could even come home with a good story or two. Maybe… 

Arthur spent the evening just drawing broken wheels, axles and even a tipped over wagon because, well, he’d seen that dumb ass do that at least once. He could almost hear Dutch cursing up a storm when they all saw it just fall over and nearly make into a bank. Course Hosea went straight for John, Dutch checked the supply, he, well he went to calm the horse before they broke free. The boy scared them all half to death that day, so Arthur began to draw that too from memory although a pit formed in his stomach. John took a good gash to the leg then. What if he gone and broke it this time?

~I should’ve gone with him or at least trailed him.~

**

Abigail had a bad feeling when John told them all he was going to town to pick up supplies. He talked about whiskey, some canned goods, and even sweets for Jack. It made them both smile, Jack and Arthur, but she knew Arthur wanted to go with him. Whatever it was that kept Arthur from being even around other people, especially going to town, seemed to be fixed when the boys came back from the last one. John did his best to explain why he didn’t want Arthur to come, dismissed it casually even complete with assurances, but anyone with one set of good eyes realized Arthur didn’t understand why John said no, and neither did she. Course John either ignored or just brushed off what he thought might be minor worry. Her stupid husband, well he planned something and that left her a little sick to the stomach even if she smiled and waved to him when he left. Heaven help anyone who might try to rob her mangy looking man because damned if he would leave a line of bodies behind him on his way home, assuming he intended to come home anytime soon. Angels protect him if he came back dragging a stupid or made-up reason behind him; God help him if it was another year. She’d go at him good this time, not just for her, but for Arthur and her boy. If she could figure out how to tie John down, she’d tan his hide too. Abigail didn’t realize she’d nearly strangled her kitchen towel at the thought of it.

Five days later, she had the misfortune of watching Arthur Morgan begin to unravel. It started with just avoiding the homestead at evening times. Sure, during the day she felt like he intentionally let her and Jack see him, doing John’s chores, even Jack’s, messing up her son’s hair and moving to the back of the house to start that project he and John talked about, something about a new shed. At least on the fifth and sixth day he ate breakfast and lunch even as he slept in the stables and helped teach his horse how to handle rain and even a short burst of lightning or two. By the seventh and eighth day, he didn’t come in for meals and by the ninth the only way she knew he was still around was looking outside the kitchen window and seeing him soaking wet, working on that shed, making too much progress by working too many hours and developing a light cough. 

**

John didn’t use a lantern to go out to the little shed Arthur managed to build himself. A part of him knew if Arthur saw the light coming at him before John got a word off, he’d quickly settle on a mood and be ready for John with it instead of letting John help guide him to something a little less heartbroken and a lot less hostile. Another part of him remained a little afraid himself. He hadn’t meant to hurt the man or his wife or his son. His plan seemed simple enough at the time: leave the house, get to the city, pick up the supplies as well as his ordered surprises and come home. How was he supposed to know the goddamn train would be robbed, delaying it from arriving by a couple of days? Since he’d robbed a few trains himself, he knew what the outlaws would likely take: money, jewelry, anything they could drink and eat and of course smokes, but not the special things he’d ordered likely stored in the back of a cargo box, not if they didn’t want to be caught and hung. So John waited, even held his temper when they said they had to take inventory or something when it did finally pull in which meant another day lost. Hell he even thought he’d come back with an interesting tale and have Abigail and Arthur be so proud he didn’t even curse or yell or nothing. Fact was he even got appreciation from the general store owner because the man lost a fair amount on that heist, and there John was to give him cash money for some and open a line of credit for the rest. It turned out ranchers with known good livestock could get money in advance for the sale he was about to make. 

Hell John was feeling pretty good about the whole thing until Abigail greeted him at the front door with a scowl and a sharp tongue soon to follow his every step telling him what a dumb-ass he was and how Arthur wasn’t ready for his idiot ideas just yet. Only seconds before he intended give her some heated words in exchange, kind of do their thing like they hadn’t done since before they got the home up and running, she told him Arthur wasn’t sleeping in the house no more or the stables, hadn’t eaten for two or three days now and built another woodshed behind the house, a simple structure with two open fronts, a solid flat roof and some supports along the two sides and at the back to keep everything in. He’d talked to Arthur about doing the work in the spring and summer, get a structure to store more wood or heck have half for firewood and the other half to store the lumber they’d bring in to fix things or build more. Abigail said on the sixth day he was gone, Arthur began the work, from nearly sun up til past sun down, just hours of hard work. At some point Arthur moved too sleeping in a tent and then in the shed itself cept no woodshed provided real proper shelter from any kind of wind or rain.

Goddamn it Arthur. John felt mad and worried and suddenly he was walking out the door with Abigail still yelling at him. He didn’t even get to say hi to Jack, but there was no way he’d let his lover sleep out in the wet cold like this. At least even in the dark he found it easy to make out Arthur’s sizable form in a mostly empty woodshed. There was just a small stack of green wood nearby which meant when the man finished the shed he just kept on going. John sighed and hesitated for a moment, just a little nervous about suddenly walking up on Arthur outside like this. Sure he’d done it plenty of times in the past, especially in camp, but in those situations Arthur expected others around, people he probably knew not to kill cause the scouts were better than that, most the time. Here, well from the way Abigail talked about it, seemed like neither Abigail nor Arthur expected him to return any time soon which just wasn’t damn fair. How long did he have to prove himself before they would just give him trust anyhow?

“Arthur.” He called, lifting his hat slightly which allowed him to feel a light sprinkle of rain on his face. It might have felt good if he hadn’t just spent hours in a wagon sitting on a wet and uncomfortable seat in it. 

Arthur didn’t stir, so he approached closer, leaning into the shed that actually looked really good from what he could see, but must have hurt the man terribly to work that hard for that long to get it done, alone. Gently he touched his lover’s shoulder. “Hey Arthur. Look I know you thought I’d gone and done something terrible, but I swear I didn’t. You see I wanted to surprise everyone, and had some things on special order. Wouldn’t you believe it, the damn train got robbed. But I, well I waited cause nothing I ordered would interest anyone looking for quick cash, you know, like we were looking.” His voice trailed off when he still didn’t get a response. “Please, please look at me Arthur. I’m sorry. I thought, I thought you’d all know I was coming back. I guess I was wrong. You weren’t, well Abigail was right I guess, you weren’t ready for me to leave that long.”

“John?” Arthur whispered weakly, as if he wasn’t sure who’d just done all that talking.

“Yeah, but you don’t, well you don’t have to pretend you don’t know.” John felt annoyed by that question but held his tongue for the most part. Cursing out Arthur right now didn’t seem like a good idea if he wanted to get the man back inside. Seeing that Arthur wasn’t about to put a bullet in what he thought was a stranger’s head, John moved in closer and his hand shifted upward to touch Arthur’s neck. 

“I think… Is Hosea around, or maybe Dutch? I think I need…” Arthur drew in a frail breath. “I need help.”

“Hosea and Dutch. Arthur you know…” John blinked and focused on that last word. Help. Arthur needed help? He ran his the back of his fingers gently along Arthur’s too thick beard and made his way to the man’s forehead. Even in this cold and wet weather, he felt warm, real warm. “Shit. You’re burning up. Okay Arthur. We don’t have anyone here who can carry you. You gotta, well you gotta help me get you up and inside. I can take most your weight, just lean on me once you’re up but help me get there.” Carefully John managed to steady Arthur’s arm around his shoulders and then took a few attempts before he got the man on his feet. Too slowly they made their way inside where John deposited the man on chair before he looked up to see Abigail looking too anxious for her own good. “He’s burning up Abigail. Get the tonic and meet me in Arthur’s bedroom.”

“Jack is too.”

John paused in his effort to lift Arthur again. “What?”

“God John, you got cotton in your ears? Jack’s sick too. He’s in his bed, fever and all.”

He felt exhausted, too tired really, but his mind began to focus on the problem unfolding before him. “Hold on Arthur. I gotta, gotta check on Jack, my son.” John hurried to his Jack’s room, almost missing Abigail’s softening expression. He checked the boy’s forehead, pressed his lips against the pale skin too just to be sure. He was hot, but not like Arthur, not as whitish either. “Get the tonic; bring it here.”

For the first time since John arrived home today, the woman just listened. She went out and got the tonic, and he knew she’d check on Arthur too on her way back, but what he didn’t plan on was her coming into the room with a bottle half full and a spoon looking like she’d just seen a ghost. “John, it’s only, it’s only… there’s not enough. Lord help us, John I should’ve told you to get more.”

John grabbed the tonic and the spoon and helped Jack drink it down. Even though the boy didn’t talk, John was rewarded with a weak smile, and he returned it. Then he went out to the hall to have a quick word with his wife. He swirled the tonic around a bit. “3-4 days maybe for the both of them.” That was a lie, probably three at most.

“John…”

“Here’s what’s going to happen.” He talked at her in a harsher tone than he intended. “I’m going to give Arthur some tonic too. You’re going to get him into his bed while I get ready to ride.”

Abigail blinked at him. “Ride where?”

“To town, to get more medicine and the doctor if he’s in. Then I’m going to come right back here.” John didn’t wait for her to answer and approached Arthur, coaxing the man to down some medicine and avoiding every urge in his body not to be tender with his lover right now; then John went straight to work to get water from the well for his journey, grab a few pieces of dried meat and dry as a bone biscuits as well as some carrots for his horse; they wouldn’t have time to stop. He came back into the house and heard his woman whispering to Arthur gently. “We gotta get you out of these wet clothes. I know you’re shy around folks, just pretend like this is an illness not even you can shoot so you gotta let me help you Arthur.”

John heard Arthur huff gently, maybe even laugh quietly and figured he’d have to think again about what he needed, more bullets. By the time he returned to the dining room Abigail had a bundle of wet clothes in her arms.

“John, he’s talking nonsense…”

“It’s the fever. The medicine will help bring it down. Three days you said, without eating?”

“Something like that. You know Arthur. He could’ve killed a squirrel or something, anything really out there by himself.”

John nodded. Yeah, Arthur might do that or just punish himself for some imagined failing. “I gotta go.” He paused at the door and turned to her. “Abigail you’ve got to make me a promise.”

“What John?” She looked worried and sick, and he really hated giving her more of a burden, but it had to be said. Did she do something different with her hair? 

John shook his head trying to keep focused on what was important. “You give Arthur his share of the medicine, and you don’t tell him we might be short. If he finds out, he won’t take it. He’ll give it all to Jack. Promise me.”

“John. I…”

“I’ll be back Abigail. I swear it. I won’t even rest until I’m back here. Promise me, please promise me.” John felt desperate and guilty and like he was becoming that terrible father she often claimed he was. Arthur was sicker, and weaker and it almost sounded like the man wheezed when he breathed. Jack was, well he was okay right now. He’d make it. For both of them.

“I promise.” She said.

John left immediately. He probably should’ve told her he loved her first, kissed her really, but he felt like a man with a purpose, and one that wouldn’t get any sleep anytime soon.


	2. Chapter 2 – QuickSpeed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John finds a couple of unexpected resources to help him get medicine from town quickly, but of course he runs into a problem because he's John, and that's just what happens to John.

John entered the stables with his bundle of supplies that he needed to get him through the next few days. He set them near the stalls and grabbed his saddle, ready to plop it on one of the Morgans and just pray that some unseen stamina could get them there in at least two days, one day too late for a supply that only lasted three. His fingers dug into the heavy leather, his eyes focusing on the horn while worry seeped into his heart. Using the determination he learned from other men, better men, John started walking again but stopped in front of the nearest stall where his dark eyes traveled the taller and slightly slimmer animal, the one that looked eager to bite his fingers off or kick his skull in. Carefully he set the saddle down and rested his arms over the top of the stall door, watching the thing raise and lower its head, deep eyes peering at him, glaring if it were possible for a horse to glare.

“Okay listen up you. You don’t like me, and I don’t like you. You’re a pain in the ass and aggressive towards me for no good reason, but Arthur needs us. He’s been grooming you real good, and you look just as lean and mean and fast as hell to me as any of your type ever was.” The horse stopped fussing about and fixated on him, but damned if John could tell if the animal wanted to help him or kill him. “But here’s what else I know, Arthur’s real good with horses. He’d do his best for you as long as he has you, so long as he can make those choices. I figure he picked you for a reason, a real good one, cause he thinks your near starving ass was special.” John wiped his cold nose. “You’re just like me you see, picked up scrawny, rough and underfed. He’s already given you more time then you’d had alone as you were, so this is what’s going to happen: I’m going to put this here saddle on you.” John motioned to the hefty thing near him even though he wasn’t sure the horse could see it. “You’re going to let me get on you, and just when you think you’re going to buck me off so you can trample me to death, you can remember I’m the reason you’re still here. He wants to sell you for a little bit of money, but I know you can bring in a lot more. Any animal that’s spent even a lick of time with my Arthur, and he is mine, is going to be better than they’d ever be learning from someone else. You and I, we gotta get to town, there and back. I figure if we can do that, together, make it… then you won’t care about what price you bring in either cause I ain’t going to let him sell you.”

John swallowed nervously, opened the stall door and cautiously approached with his saddle in hand. The animal stamped it’s left foot three times, and threw his head up and down but seemed to settle once John attached the weighty thing and strapped it firmly against the muscular body. Feeling a little more confident about things, he was quicker with filling his saddle bags, attached the rifle and finally the bedroll. Once everything seemed secure, John led the animal outside, mounted him and held on for dear life since his horse suddenly started turning in circles for no damn reason at all. When John didn’t just fall off like he was some amateur rider, it seemed to satisfy the animal. The Thoroughbred stopped whatever that was, felt the kick against his sides and hurried down the muddy path towards the first gate. John allowed his body to loosen up and move with the tall mount, just like Arthur taught him; he nearly tugged the reins to slow the horse down, so he could get the first gate when the black stallion suddenly increased his speed, jolted forward and up he went; they became airborne, just like that. 

“Hell yeah!”

It was the first animal he’d had since being here that could make a jump like that, and strangely enough, his mount kept going, without encouragement or coaxing, just lightning fast towards the main road, and the second gate which he also cleared, huffing his big heart out as if he knew, felt deep inside, it’s what he needed to do for John and for Arthur.

If it weren’t for the stomach sinking fear for his son and Arthur, John might’ve enjoyed testing the horse’s potential out better. The Thoroughbred made short work of their trail to the homestead and they soon found themselves on a far more notable path. His four-legged nemesis fought his control, only a little bit. Hosea, Dutch and hell even Arthur might not have allowed that, tried to break him of that habit real fast, but John figured this was an arrangement. He needed the speed, and if that came with attitude, well they’d deal with that latter. Besides, John felt Arthur never risked pushing his new mount like this before, taking him out on full runs and certainly not down muddy paths. That’d be too much risk for something he wanted sell, having him break a leg or fall real bad before a sale. Truth be told, John might actually ruin him during this race against time, and he wouldn’t think twice about it if he saved Jack, saved Arthur. Seeing how he might be responsible for that, John felt the need to at least name him, make him kind of a member of the family just in case. “All right QuickSpeed, you and me, we gotta get to town real fast, but we gotta head out the same day too so here’s the plan. We get there. I give you some rest and some good carrots too; you know they’re good cause Arthur wouldn’t bring back anything less. While I talk to the doc and get medicine, you’ll get to cool down some but not for long. Don’t worry, me neither. Just an hour maybe two if that.” Maybe he felt a little stupid talking to the animal. He wasn’t like Arthur in all this, but it wasn’t that he didn’t care. He still felt sad about leaving Old Boy up there in the mountains like that, but what could he do about it? They were running for their lives, trying to get back to his family and well when Arthur kneeled and said his good-byes and… John swallowed thickly, thinking about that, losing Arthur… again, would break his damn heart. That big fucking lout got himself in a real bind, working too hard and not eating just in time to get sick. Focus. His brain urged. Save the man’s life first then yell at him when he was better.

By the time they reached a familiar stretch of forest that left both Arthur and then John on the ground before, he tried to keep his head down because the rain picked up, disappointing both mount and rider. He listened carefully for any sounds of unwanted animals; fortunately QuickSpeed lived up to his name and didn’t let up with only a little encouraging. In fact, John estimated that this one could outrun a few wolves pretty easily if not surprised and scared into rearing him off. He didn’t really want to test this idea, but he held onto his reins tighter than he should just in case. If he lost his horse, they’d be done for. 

They rode through the night and into the morning with John stopping once near a boulder to check out the stallion’s hooves for rocks since the return trip remained just as important and a lame horse might as well be a dead one for this job. By the time they arrived at Old Belle, they were both soaked through and tired. John hurriedly hitched his horse, gave QuickSpeed the promised carrots before he ran as fast as the muddy streets allowed him to to the doctor’s door, but it wasn’t open and no lights were on. He started pounding though. “Doc! Doc! Are you in there?” He struck the front door a few more times, tried peering through the window to see if there was back door or an indication the man might live there. Just as he was about to head to the alley a woman suddenly appeared in his sight.

“You are Mr. Marston right?”

John lifted his hat slightly, looking at the long pale peach gown, brown leather and ultimately useless gloves and a coat that gave her minor cover from the rain and not much else. At least she held a clutch and an umbrella which would have given her a lot more cover than her silly and tiny hat. Her eyes though, that pale skin… not only did she not look like someone he knew, she reminded him of someone he’d likely rob. “Do I know you miss?”

“Mrs.” She corrected politely. “I am afraid we have not met prior to this moment. You spoke to my husband, David Greene. He said the two of you exchanged a few tales over drinks.”

He took a deep breath. Couldn’t she see he didn’t have time for social niceties, or whatever it was nice people said to other nice people when they met in town? “Ma’am. I’m sorry, but I’m in a hurry here and…”

Her light eyes shifted to the building. “Doctor Higgins went up to the Cliftons. Mrs. Cliftons is having a real bad pregnancy.”

John’s face fell. 

“I can send him your way when he gets back.”

“I need, my boy is real sick as is my… friend. I need medicine. Does he have anyone who works with him in that there building? An assistant or something?”

Mrs. Greene sighed quietly and turned her umbrella a few times. “I know his sister. It is a short ride, and I will convince her to open the store. She sells a few trinkets in there, hand cloths, cards and that sort of thing. I shouldn’t be more than an hour. I will tell her it is urgent.” She turned and left without John’s reply.

John took one look at the horse and frowned. “Cards? She’s talking about cards while my boy and your owner suffers. I… this is what I have to deal with.” But he also realized she was the only one who might be able to help him at all. He was just seconds from picking the lock or bashing in the window to get it but one hour, he owed Arthur and Abigail and Jack at least one hour to do things right before he went back to robbing folks. It also gave him a short respite he and his mount needed. Carefully John leaned against the door and let himself slide down to the wooden deck and covered his eyes with his hat, trying to get some shut-eye. 

Internally, he knew he slept longer than an hour. John promised himself he wouldn’t go beyond two, so when a light hand touched his shoulder gently about an hour and a half later, he was startled enough to reach for his gun but not draw it blindly or get mad when he saw the same woman peering down at him. He blinked and stood quickly. “Did you bring her?”

Mrs. Greene nodded. “She wasn’t… comfortable facing a man of your, well you made her nervous.”

John couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “But I need…” He fell silent as she held out a small bag to him.

“You didn’t say what kind of medicine you needed, nor did I think to ask. There are two in there for fever, one for vomiting and stomach issues and another for pain. I also added cloth and something to wash wounds with. If you do not need them all now, you likely will in the future. There are some written instructions.” She paused. “Can you, can you read?”

John grabbed the bag and began digging inside his vest for the bills. “Yes. How much…”

Gently the woman placed a hand against his chest. “We’ll be sending the doctor to your place. Please pay him there. I marked it in his ledger, but he’d be real happy to get it from you directly. There are a few regulars in town that ride in from some distance. One of them might meet him on his way in and lead him to your place sooner.”

John glanced at his horse, ready to ride, and ride hard to get home. At this rate, he might even make it before the third night. “You don’t, don’t require anything for the helping and all?”

She peered at him, confused. “Require anything?”

“The doctor gets paid. The other woman is his sister but you, what do you get out of it?”

Ever so gradually a smile formed. “Well I suppose it seems that way to some folks. Mr. Marston; I truly do hope your medicine works for you. When you come to town next, tell me about it; I will reveal to you what I am getting out of this engagement and perhaps receive a chance to explain that help does not often require payment.” She bowed and left.

Frowning, John headed back towards QuickSpeed and mounted him. He didn’t look to happy to see John again so soon, but he only stomped his feet, chewed on his bit and refused the first guide of the reins and kick. The second attempt, well Arthur’s damn horse obeyed him that time, and they managed to rush down the street so fast he thought he mighta run into a fella carrying something in a bucket, just a graze though, nothing to write home about. Hell by the time they hit the forest this time, John was feeling kind of cocky, had his adrenaline going and a swift horse, so he thought for sure his luck was turning around right up until he heard something come crashing through the forest towards them and big ass bear came right up behind them. 

QuickSpeed panicked. Of course he did. The stallion turned and reared and dumped John right into the mud, leaving him with only a pistol and a charging bear. John got to his feet real quick, shot at the thing twice, and was pretty sure he hit it but the damn thing kept coming. Only when he heard a howl and then another from his right, which caused the hairs at the back of his neck to stand-up, did he actually feel deep in his heart a sincere form of terror. It didn’t make any lick of sense either because he was about to be torn apart by a bear. What difference did it make if a few wolves licked his bones clean afterward?


	3. Chapter 3 – Finding Your Pack

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John's in trouble. He often relies on Arthur to help, but this time he knows the man can't be around to help him. Maybe, just maybe fate doesn't hate him, and he might have picked a certain skill without realizing it too.

John weighed his options, rising to one knee and steadying his pistol at the bear. He should’ve gone hunting more often with Hosea, hell even Arthur because he didn’t exactly know where to hit a massive ball of fur and fat and thick bones like the thing raging at him so quickly now. Hell he didn’t even know if he should worry more about that or the wolves that seemed to be coming at him from multiple sides. It’d be the stupidest thing he’d ever done, but John even thought about just closing his eyes, firing multiple times and hoping for the best. Luck never seemed to be on his side, and this just seemed like, well… he laughed out loud for a moment because this had to be the worst turn of luck ever. Local man torn apart by animals, the headline might say if there was anything left for anyone to even bury. Except... Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a wolf approach him but turn, drawing its lips back in a nasty snarl. Then came another and then another until what seemed like a half-dozen of these sizable animals growled and snarled not at him but the bear slowing down in front of them. His eyes grew wide when the thing shifted to its haunches, stood on two feet and just released a deep guttural sound that filled the entire area. Even though he kept his pistol aimed, and somehow kept his hand and arm from shaking, John felt mostly frozen in place. This wolf pack approached, their growls oddly sounding more aggressive, threatening as they left John behind and circled the much larger predator. Feeling like this was his chance to get away, John started to back-up just as the stand-off turned physical except when he partially turned another wolf stood right next to him, staring right at him.

He swallowed nervously, not understanding, not wanting his brain to comprehend that a pack of wolves faced a grizzly near him, and this one stayed behind maybe intending to start in on the second meal more quickly except there was something odd about the way the wolf looked at him, just seemed to pierce right into his soul, assuming he still had one of those, hoping if he did he might not go to the same heated space in hell that he often wanted to send Micah too. She approached him, step by step, and he knew it was a she. It was the same one Arthur faced before, the one with brown under the chin. He hadn’t paid nearly as much attention to those wolves as he had on his gun then, but he saw that, saw Arthur stand in-front of her and just face her down or, or something. Maybe if he could… as soon as John attempted to stand she growled, and it was a menacing sound too, seemed a lot louder than what was going on near them. He halted, closing his eyes if only for a moment, trying to block out that sound, the heart wrenching horrific cries of a mare being torn apart in the snow, her blood spilling across the fluffy white as he limped away, abandoning her, hiding like a goddamn coward. Oh Arthur played a good game, telling him, maybe telling others, it was twenty wolves when it probably wasn’t more than five or six. He’d been disoriented, still hurt from being shot at Blackwater, lost and then… the devil sent them, predators that tore their prey apart. The anguish he heard, the suffering he thought he might feel himself, yes it haunted him sometimes and not just at night but during waking dreams, moments when his mind wandered too far and not on anything particular. This time Arthur wouldn’t be able to save him; he was stuck sick at home, relying on someone who rarely managed to do anything right. It felt, well it all felt so hopeless.

His efforts to stand were abandoned, and he stayed as he was for a minute, maybe two. When she neared him again the growling stopped, and John lowered his dark eyes, not wanting his scarred face to be torn apart first. Stupid Marston, he could hear almost anyone say. Showing vanity now had to be the peak of a mountain of pointless things to do, but it was that or cry, and he refused to let that be his last memory, tears. But when she approached, a nose pressed against his hair, and he lowered his head more when she began to sniff him, almost gentle whiffs of air exhaling against his hair and neck. He saw her body stiffen, thought this might be it, the attack, except… well she stood erect but peered past him. John risked a look too and could scarcely believe it. The bear was still being slightly harassed by the wolves had turned and began lumbering back into the forest. If it was John he wanted, apparently John wasn’t worth the effort to face down other things with big teeth and attitude.

Once again John made a move to stand, but the she-wolf growled a warning as the others joined her. They surrounded him, and it took everything inside John not to panic, not to draw his gun and just start shooting… not to soil himself. He began to breathe too quickly, just gulping air as his body developed a minute shake. Then she nuzzled him, cold nose against his neck and then licked his face twice. Just like that, they all turned and left.

For too many precious minutes, John remained as he was, on the ground, unmoving, scarcely believing what happened. With still trembling hands, he felt for his gun, felt for his satchel and eventually stood. The forest sounded too quiet, the smaller animals having fled during the violent encounter that amazingly enough turned out to be largely bloodless. His fucking horse was nowhere to be seen, and John had little hope that Quickspeed might actually return out of some sudden bout of fondness, so he began walking, walking as fast as he could in the pouring rain right after he checked his watch. He’d be late, days late at this rate. This wasn’t fair. He did everything right. Why did this keep happening to him? Why did someone up there hate him so much to put him through all that only to wind up sending him on his way with no real hope of getting there in time? Arthur might actually die before he got there.

As he walked down the trail, John felt almost numb, not really recognizing shock for what it was and not allowing his emotions to help or hinder him. He did feel bad about Jack though, not thinking about him first over Arthur. Did that make him a bad father? When he left, his boy was warm, a little sick but he got a smile, a weak one but still recognition. Arthur seemed half mad, asking about, no **for** people that were dead or wanted them dead. And then he felt even worse, miserable with worry and defeat even though his feet pushed him forward. That could be his brother’s, his lover’s last thoughts, wondering why people he loved, and people he thought loved him never showed up while he was ill.

About an hour later, John stopped by a tree to drink some water, wipe his damp brow and look around the area. It was quiet now, the rain light, the sky grey and more than just a breeze stirred the trees and bushes around him. He rarely took time to notice things like this, see a few birds, small ones, maybe sparrows hiding on a branch under big leaves, heard some geese above him and the soft neigh of a horse. John blinked, tried to focus real hard just in case he misheard, but the neigh sounded again. Carefully he moved as quietly as his boots allowed and crouched low, pushing aside part of a bush and a low hanging branch to creep up on a pretty beat-up looking horse. The saddle she wore seemed as if no one had polished it or wiped it in weeks. Her main looked too long and matted, her tail filled with twigs and leaves and though not starving she clearly seemed too thin; those hooves looked overgrown real bad too. John glanced around, seeing no rider, no evidence of an owner of any kind.

“Hey now.” He whispered quietly, startling her but only for a moment. The horse looked up at him, and he wondered about her color underneath all the dirt, all that muck. Maybe, just maybe… No John. Focus. Her breed didn’t matter. She was a horse, and any horse would do at this moment. Now he’d seen Arthur do this once or twice when he was younger and hung around him like a shadow. He somehow managed to calm horses just by approaching real slow like this, speaking to them and never looking away. “There girl. Easy now. Easy girl.” He eased up to her step by step, pausing when she reared, raising a hand real soothing like when she jerked her head away. Fucking Arthur managed to do this with wild animals somehow. Surely John knew enough to calm a once tamed horse.

Inch by inch John made his way to her side until he managed to slide his hand along the mud caked neck. He stroked her, carefully, comfortingly, working his way down her body and legs until she settled. Knowing that anything under the saddle might cause pain and alarm her, John made his way there and worked his hands under a saddle blanket so heavy and wet with moisture he could smell it, but he still managed to work out a few rocks and a couple of burrs on either side of her. “Okay girl. I know you’re not comfortable. I know you don’t know me. I promise you if you can get me home we’ll clean you up real nice like. There’s a man at home, he knows too much about horses, and he’ll get you to as good as new in no time.” He brushed away some filth from the saddle, noticed etching in the leather that said Rachel. “Rachel it is.” Arthur probably wouldn’t like the names QuickSpeed or Rachel, but as long as the man could criticize him about it, well John would just be glad to hear his solid and not at all confused voice again when he did. John grabbed the reins, rough jagged leather as they were but serviceable. He took a breath and gave her a gentle kick, leading her back to the trail. He dared not push her into a full gallop, but even a quick trot would save him a lot of hours, maybe even get him there close to on time since QuickSpeed covered so much distance before. So John urged his new mount cautiously and one nervous rider and exhausted horse made their way back home.

They didn’t arrive until quite late the third day after John left. His poor girl breathed hard, had slowed down but didn’t look nearly as in unfortunate shape as the Appaloosa Arthur rode in on months ago. He felt bad for her, but what little faith he had in prayers he reserved for Arthur and Jack. In fact, John spent just enough time to drop the old saddle and blanket on the ground, got her into the barn and let her eat some quality hay and some oats, gain access to clean water and gave the chickens half a thought as he hurried to the house. He just hoped she wouldn’t stomp one of their best food sources to death. Dripping wet, dragging in mud and shivering himself, John dropped his satchel on the table.

“John.” He heard Abigail call to him quietly down the hall.

“Not now.” John had one damn job to do, and he was going to do it right now. He grabbed one of the medicines that mentioned fever on it and hurried into Arthur’s room. He took off his hat and gasped at what he saw. John stared at Arthur’s empty bed, the sheets messy, his precious furs on the floor and a bucket lying on the side like someone knocked it over and didn’t bother to pick it up. “No.” He might have shouted or whispered that word. His mind barely registered anything beyond heart sickness, an ache so deep he thought it might cause him to collapse.

“John?” Abigail’s voice tried to pull him back from the darkness of despair, except he felt his heartache quickly turn to venom against his wife.

“Why didn’t you tell me? Why didn’t you tell me he was gone?” It didn’t matter he didn’t give her a chance to speak or explain. It didn’t matter he was angry at the wrong person. Arthur wasn’t in his bed. His room was a mess like he never left it before and… and…

“John, he’s…”

But he didn’t let her finish, John whirled on her, and for a moment he saw fear, saw her react to true uncertainty as he stalked towards her as if to strike her, as if to turn the violence and frustration he built up recently against the woman who didn’t take the less than minute he gave her to explain everything. He just felt hot, hot with fury, and failure and, well only God knew why else he just wanted to destroy everything right now.

But Abigail didn’t cower. She showed fear, yes, but she stood strong as she always did with and against a camp of killers and spoke a few very simple words to cut through his haze. “He’s in our bed John.”

John blinked. “What?”

“Arthur is in our bed.” She approached him, lifted her hand to his cheek and then whispered. “Come with me John. I think you’re getting sick too.” Carefully she wrapped cool fingers around John’s wrist and tugged him down the hall.

He didn’t even realize how light headed he felt, tired and exhausted and being outside too long. John stumbled down the hall to their bedroom where his eyes fell upon Arthur who lay fast asleep in the center of their bed, and his fellow ill family member, their child Jack, hugged him tight from one side.

“Jack called out for you, but you weren’t available, so Arthur joined him. I didn’t have any left for Arthur. He’s still suffering and maybe getting worse, but he’s understood what I was saying John.” She raised a hand to his hot forehead. “Get your dirty clothes off and get in there with them. You’re heating up, and you’re soaking wet.”

He didn’t need to be asked twice, John stripped down almost naked and climbed into the bed to touch and lightly kiss and ultimately assure himself that Arthur was okay, and the man was, still warm but not burning, his breathing even and not forced. When Abigail walked up behind him, John realized she wrangled the bottle from him, and she offered him a spoonful and then another of medicine and set a cup of water by his side of the bed. “Abigail, I’m sorry...”

“You’re an idiot John Marston, hot-headed, foolish and prone to violent outbursts, but I knew what you were when I married you.” She took a swig of medicine herself and climbed in behind Jack. “Get some rest John. I’ll figure out a way to punish you for that later.”

And John would accept whatever it was. Arthur was okay; John managed to bring home a new horse so maybe the man wouldn’t hurt him for losing the other one, and somewhere out there in a place not meant for tormenting souls, Hosea smiled at him. He did good, made it, and John felt that praise shine upon him as if the man stood in the doorway and said the words himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am trying to keep the supernatural elements somewhat lite but still.. there. Hopefully that works more than it doesn't. This particular piece doesn't have a lot of Arthur in it, yet, but it will. It's also the chapter that has the scene that stimulated the whole piece to begin with although there are a few more now in my mind before I wrap it up.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed.


	4. Chapter 4 – Multiplicity

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John made it back in time with the medicine, and as a result the two weakest members began to recover, and the other two avoided a good amount of pain and suffering but... there's still that little matter about how it all fell apart because John didn't come home when his wife and lover expected him to, and there's the issue about the horses, and, well... John still doesn't know how best to convey information, neither does Arthur.

The Marston family wound up spending the entire next day in bed. No one had much energy to move around, and when Arthur stirred only for a moment, John just gripped him as tight as he could manage to press his face against the man’s side in hopes for a tight embrace which he received. At some point he heard Jack talk quietly, and it sounded like Abigail got up and returned with an apple or something before the boy fell asleep again. John felt ill but not miserable, too cold when blankets shifted but warm again when big arms drew him close. He didn’t really know how awake Arthur was or really how Abigail was feeling, but he heard her voice later respond to Jack’s silly questions about wolves and horses and whatever else came to his mind for at least an hour before he fell asleep once again. Arthur breathed in deep and steady, his heartbeat strong and only changing when he struggled to reach over John to get some water; of course John remained too stubborn and selfish to want to do anything but lie there. It would be mid-afternoon the next day before John fully awoke to an empty bed and the smell of breakfast. 

The dark-haired man pressed his face firmly into a nearby soft pillow which smelled of Arthur, medicine and sweaty bodies. If he let himself linger, John imagined he could sleep away this day too, but he forced himself to push forward. Reluctantly he climbed out of the bed, noting the dirt and leaves and bits of twigs he left behind where he’d lied down. As he pulled on a fresh green shirt and some jeans, he felt relieved, even complete to find and put on his hat. With a deep breath John traveled down the hallway, noticing the lack of mud and wet stuff he brought in the night he came in and took his place at the table, giving his wide awake son, dressed in a shirt he didn’t bother to tuck in, a brief smile, and his exhausted looking wife in a pale yellow dress, who wasn’t cooking or making that smell from the stove, received a smile as well. That’s when he noticed it was Arthur, fully dressed in jeans, a light blue shirt with a rip an suspenders, who put an egg on each of their plates as well as some fried potatoes. Not only did the eggs not look overcooked or like mush, the potatoes were browned just right and seasoned. John grinned and grabbed a fork, eager to make up lost eating time although he waited, of course, for Arthur to join them which he only did after he gave them all their share of coffee, water for Jack.

“How do you feel Arthur?”

Weary blue eyes lifted from his plate, those light gems not as clear as they should be. Arthur’s posture also remained a little hunched, but John received a slight smile as the man’s large hands ran through just a little too long blonde strands. “I don’t remember much John. I remember being brought inside the house, and you climbing in bed with me but not much in between. I haven’t had a chance to get to the chores yet. I just need a few…”

“Don’t go down there without me. Just wait okay.” John didn’t want the man out of his sight for a little bit, and he just adopted Arthur’s habit of turning a question into a statement, really a demand. He knew they’d have to talk about what happened, sometime soon but not right now, not at the table. Abigail would punish him for bringing that sort of thing in front of Jack, and he was pretty sure he was owed a punishment already. John reached over and gave Jack a squeeze on his shoulder. “How about you son?”

“How do I feel?” Innocent eyes peered up at him, and once again John wondered how something so, well, without guilt and blame could come from him.

“Yeah son. Are you feeling better?”

Jack grinned. “When I woke up, I was squeezed real tight. Everyone was in the bed, and it was so warm!” He reminded them all excitedly.

Their bed only managed to accommodate three adults, one especially large one, and a child with a tight fit, so when John’s eyes shifted to Arthur the man looked away quickly and unsuccessfully tried to hide a blush behind his cup. No doubt his lover blamed himself for such a friendly arrangement and didn’t actually remember he entered their bed to help Jack. John’s eyes moved to Abigail who returned his smile immediately. His woman endured and did what she had to do because she was solid, came from tough stuff and lived a hard life. “Good good.”

“I hope we can do it again someday, you know, minus the sick part.” Jack needlessly explained. “I didn’t like that.”

“Finish your breakfast.” Abigail ordered quietly. “Then go to your room and get your blankets and sheets ready for me, Arthur’s too.”

“Okay!”

He took two more bites and ran off to do as he was told, finally getting permission to be in Arthur’s room if only for a moment.

John returned his full attention back to their older man. Arthur still looked stiff, probably from the illness and the overworking. “I need to, well we need to take care of the animals. They weren’t really seen to yesterday, and then the wagon wasn’t fully unpacked…” He frowned briefly. “We’ll talk later about the rest.” He intentionally didn’t leave room for argument, again, and neither objected. Since Arthur finished his eggs and potatoes while John spoke, John just sort of scraped the rest of his food onto the man’s plate. Light eyes rose to meet his gaze. Maybe he shouldn’t have narrowed his eyes or thinned his lips, but a part of John, as grateful as he was that his family was alright, dared Arthur to confront him on, well anything. With Abigail here, he knew Arthur wouldn’t object too much, and the man certainly didn’t at all. Instead his lover finished the additional food in silence while John got up to gather the dishes. “I’ll take care of the dishes Abigail, you can rest some and then…”

“Oh I don’t need you to tell me what to do John.” She replied levelly. “And ain’t no one in here is going to tell me I need to atone for nothing. I’m the only one in this room that didn’t do something incredibly stupid recently. I’ll rest when I get those blankets washed and hung. In this temperature, they’ll take all day to dry, if we’re lucky.” She stood, approached John at the sink and placed a palm against his forehead. “You do what you have to do John, tend to those animals, unpack, but so help me God if I find you out there working in that rain for any amount of time today…” The woman grabbed a damp cloth and went somewhere to clean up a mess John probably left.

Arthur sat awkwardly at the table, nursing his coffee, barely. “You were here and then you left again?”

John dried his hands and turned to face the older man, hip against the counter. “Well I kind of had to. We needed supplies real bad, of the medical kind.”

Arthur frowned, no doubt trying to piece together what really happened. He put the cup down and reached into his pocket to pull out a cigarette, lit and enjoyed it too. 

“You think that’s a good idea, after being sick as you were, with what the doctor said about your lungs and all?”

“Probably not.” Arthur continued smoking letting John know that’s all he intended to say about that.

Pick your battles, John decided, and that wasn’t worth it today. He had other hills to climb, other issues to address.

“I’ll wait for you outside.” Arthur stood and went to the door, and John almost followed except he sort of forgot about his bare feet. As he raced to his to get his socks and boots, he remembered something and sort of stumbled down the hallway hoping, really hoping Arthur just smoked on the porch and didn’t go to the stables. “Shit Arthur. Wait. I, look I’m really sorry. I lost, you see I lost your horse.” John grabbed his coat on the way out and found Arthur just leaning against the wall, still smoking. 

“Lost?” The older man asked, showing no strong emotion, one way or another just yet.

John sighed unhappily. “I needed something faster than either of those Morgans. He was just there, ready, mostly ready, thanks to your training and taming and stuff, but he’d never really been around anything loud and threatening before. Anyway, so I had to hurry to get the medicine before we ran out, and he did fine in town although there wasn’t many around when we got there and no loud noises, and then the bear and the wolves.”

Arthur looked too relaxed and perfectly focused which meant his lover absorbed every word coming out of John’s mouth. It reminded John of when he was a kid, when Arthur would let him ramble on and on about something Arthur already knew about or something he just didn’t care about. In the end, John was often left feeling kind of stupid about saying anything at all. The blonde put out his cigarette, peered at John real hard and then finally responded. “He ran away from you? That’s why he’s standing at the stables like you forgot to put him in?”

John blinked at Arthur, turned his head towards the stables and let his wide eyes and open mouth show his complete surprise at seeing that damn horse just standing in front of the stable as if he was waiting for someone to open the door for him. “QuickSpeed! You stupid fuck…”

“Quick what?” Arthur’s gruff voice cut through his intended rant.

“Umm, QuickSpeed. I, well…” John rubbed his hands together briefly. “You see I named your horse, QuickSpeed.”

Arthur rolled his eyes, kicked at nothing on the porch and sighed. “That’s a pretty stupid name for a horse John.”

“It’s what I thought of at the moment. It’s really not as bad as your trying to make it be.” 

Arthur pushed himself from the wall and started walking towards the stables; John followed him. “Quick Speed John. You might as well of called him Fast Horse. Quick and speed mean almost the same thing anyhow.”

“You’re, you’re not saying it right, and they do not. Speed can be, you know, slow or fast… I think.” John objected.

“Ain’t no one going to call their horse Slow Horse.” Arthur stopped and turned to him. “What you mean saying I ain’t saying Quick Speed right?”

“Faster. It’s not Quick Speed. It’s QuickSpeed.”

Blue eyes narrowed slightly.

“It seemed right to name him just in case I, you know, ran him to death, needed a… name. Can’t really mourn something with no name.” John hated this, how Arthur made him feel like he suddenly had to justify racing into the night to save his senseless ass from dying. The man worked himself to stiffness; he could see it right now with how slow Arthur walked, how he shifted his back and tried to roll his shoulders. The old man’s entire body seemed like bundles of knots Arthur tried to subtly work free. The man wouldn’t complain about it either would he? Of course not because as soon as he did they both knew it would start, that conversation, that lecture John intended to have that his stupid lover thought would just slip away if they managed to avoid it long enough. To hell with that. He didn’t do all that to come back to this routine where Arthur treated him like some sort of unruly child going around naming another man’s horse from under him right after doing what he did. “You can always change it.”

“Once you name a horse, you name a horse.” Arthur replied cryptically. “You can’t go taking their self from them.” Arthur approached his horse and gave the animal a good patting, his fingers just working along the neck and those eyes softening as if he stood in front of one of the most important things in the world. John realized a while ago that Arthur loved easy. Give the man an excuse to, and he was there, loving, protecting hell even willing to die for someone he met practically yesterday. “Good boy. There you are. Let’s get this stuff off you… QuickSpeed.” He almost growled the horse’s name. 

John rolled his eyes and opened the stable doors to let QuickSpeed and Arthur in. While the man went for a brush and treats, he decided to open the barn to let the chickens out and to check on Rachel. She seemed hesitant to approach him, so John just gently spoke to her and grabbed a lead rope to loosely place around her neck and guide her to the other horses in the open space in there. No signs of dead chickens, thankfully, and the cow looked and sounded annoyed, but couldn’t be bothered beyond that. 

When the two of them arrived in the stables, Arthur stopped his fussing over QuickSpeed and focused on John and the fresh arrival. He threw John a questioning look.

“Umm, well this is Rachel. She had to help me finish the ride since yours dumped me in the middle of the trail like a pile of trash and took off, you know, leaving me to die.”

Arthur gave QuickSpeed a pat on the neck, left him with a small amount of oats in a bucket and approached the other horse. “She looks pretty roughed up. Rachel John, really?”

“It’s what was on her saddle…” The fact his companion completely ignored his complaint and near death experience only simmered John’s barely contained anger more. 

Their eyes met again. “Did you steal her?” Arthur accused. 

“What? NO!” John huffed briefly. “You sure have a lot of mouth for someone who saved your ass old man.”

Arthur examined her ears, ran his fingers along her legs and looked at an empty bucket knowing they would need to clean her up really good to see if there were any wounds that required attention. “I reckon she’s a Thoroughbred too. I’ll know more when I wash her up. You seem kind of annoyed John. It might save us a lot of time if you just tell me what you’ve been itchin to tell me rather than keep doing whatever the hell it is you think you’re doing.”

“Fine.” John huffed angrily. “I went all the way to town to get some really special things for my family, and I came back home to my dumbass brother breaking his fucking body trying to build a woodshed all by himself in the rain which also got him real sick, real sick Arthur. You were asking for Hosea, for Dutch, anyone cept me of course, and then I drag you into the house and find out my son is sick too. So here we are with two sick people and my wife, that’s Abigail in case you somehow forgot, someone who says she loves me, is yelling at me the entire time until she finds out we don’t have nough medicine. I’ve not even rested from my trip yet, but because I love your dumbass, and I love my son, I go grab your spoiled and ungrateful horse to get to town only to find out the docs somewhere else, so I have to wait for help to get it. I could’ve just gone in there and stole it but no, no, the same asshole lover moaning in his bed is going to wring my neck if he finds out I gone thieving again, so I sleep and wait for the kindness of some stranger to finally get what I need. And what do you know, she comes back and gets it for me!” John kept going. He probably wouldn’t have been able to stop if he tried. “So I’m a real idiot now, thinking my luck is finally turned, doing the right thing, saving my family the right way, just making it work and what do I get, a giant bear comes right at me, scares the shit out of your horse which just dumps me in the mud and takes off. So here I am facing a bear, and that same pack of wolves finds me, again, and I’m just… just…” 

John shakes his head, his brow furrowing. “Except they go for the bear, chase it off, and they, I don’t know what she does really but they leave. So there I am walking home, thinking I’m going to lose you, arrive just too late. You’s going to die because I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t just do a simple job like get to town, buy something and come back. Twice! Then I see this horse, and she’s in real bad shape, not good at all, but I figure if I can get her to move some she’d still be faster than I can walk. I get home, think you’re dead and then… and then…” John swallowed thickly, the bile of that fear threatening to crawl its ugly way up his throat again. “And now you’re giving me grief about the names of two horses.” At this point, John realized he should look at Arthur, and when he did, Arthur somehow managed to get real close, just looking at him with that expression that never tells anyone anything about what he’s thinking, not even him this time.

“Done?” Arthur murmurs.

“Guess so.” John grumbled.

Then Arthur leaned forward, brushing his thumb along John’s cheek where he has a scratch he didn’t feel until then, and then Arthur kissed him. It was real gentle too, just a press of lips until John cautiously opened his mouth. That’s when the tongue slipped in, but it was different than how they kissed before, so… delicate, so light like he imagined a feather might feel if someone could kiss with one. When they finally parted, John felt like a lot of weight lifted from his shoulders just letting it out like that and then getting that kind of response. 

Arthur spoke again, real quiet like, but still deep, still with that warm voice John loved so much. “Thank you.”

And John was stunned. None of this is what he expected at all. He prepared for a fight, for an argument, for reasons he did this, and Arthur did that, and why they both failed, again, at doing something as basic as handling someone leave and come back. Arthur was grateful, and he almost said it, and his touch was soft, his kiss just so kind and comforting that John he didn’t know how to handle it. “I…” John frowned, not knowing what to say or what to do.

“I got real anxious.” Arthur whispered as he tried to lead them forward when John couldn’t manage to do that this time. “Upset, so I pulled away from everyone like I always do, put myself to work. Things just, well they went down from there. I don’t really remember getting sick.”

John swallowed thickly and nodded. “And the eating, do you remember not eating?”

Arthur huffed followed by a weak smile. “I sort of thought she was watching me. I ate a few things. There are, were, some wild food to eat not far from here. I umm, well they’d die soon from the cold, so I didn’t see any harm in harvesting them.”

“You didn’t eat enough.” John pushed gently.

“I didn’t.” Arthur didn’t argue.

“And you hurt Abigail, hurt Jack, hurt me...”

Arthur’s shoulders stiffened slightly. “I didn’t mean to. I’m sorry John. I don’t really know what else to say about it. Isn’t, isn’t that enough?” The older man opened his mouth as if to say more, to continue, but he fell silent again.

John felt his heart tighten slightly, and a strange sense of doubt settled in his stomach. “It should be shouldn’t it?”

“But it’s not?”

John focused on those beautiful eyes he loved, and he saw hurt and worry and love and all sorts of things swirling there. “I don’t, I don’t know Arthur. I mean how many times we ever hear someone apologize to anyone and just accept it? Except, you know, to Dutch for doubting one of his rash plans, but only because we went with it in the end. He always got what he wanted, from you, from me.” A little venom snuck into his voice there even though he didn’t mean to let it. 

“Not, not very often.” Arthur admitted. “Not since we were young anyway, well when you were younger; you’re still young.”

John finally let himself smile briefly. “Yeah, but in some ways we both are.”

That confused Arthur. Whatever shield Arthur used earlier to hide his emotions vanished a few minutes ago, and this became a raw, shared experience. “Whatcha mean?”

“There are just somethings you and I never learned right, things other folk learn early.” John didn’t receive an argument against that either, so he knew Arthur agreed on some level. “You, you can’t go punishing yourself and working yourself to harm when you get mad at me Arthur. It’s, well it’s going to happen again. I’d rather you just yell at me than have you do that. It hurts to see you in pain Arthur. I spent all these months trying to convince you to accept an averages man’s work, just normal effort, and you threw all that away in just a few days.”

“It wasn’t mad that I was feeling, and I reckon my body is going to suffer from that for… well too long I guess.” Arthur admitted and tried get John into a hug; John let him. “You wanna talk about the wolves now?”

Of course Arthur knew. Arthur always knew what he needed to talk about except now wasn’t the time. They had work to do while the sun was up. “Later. We should tend to the horses and get the wagon unloaded.” He paused. “I love you Arthur. I’m sorry I don’t know how to do this right. I just, it really hurt to think you both doubted me so quick. I really thought I earned more than that already.”

“I don’t know either John.” Arthur whispered. “I just, well you read it. I don’t know either. Like I said, it wasn’t mad I was really feeling, not, not really.”

John sniffed briefly, unsuccessfully trying to hide his disappointment and pulled back. “I’ll let you, let you tend to Rachel and QuickSpeed.” He ignored Arthur’s open sigh of disdain for those names. “And I’ll get to the rest of them. When we’re done trying to make sure these animals don’t want to get revenge or something, we’ll do the wagon together. I’ll show you what I got for everyone… what I got you.”

Oh Arthur wanted to object to the idea of any sort of gift. John almost felt it because the man advertised his discomfort so clearly, but in the end, Arthur knew it made no sense to argue now. It wasn’t like anything would be going back to the store. “Okay John.”

John smiled. It was at least another start for them.


	5. Chapter 5 – John’s Love

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even though going to town kind of stimulated the whole mess between John and most his family, he went there for a reason. It's past time the others found out just what he was thinking when he did.

John took his time throwing dried corn at the chickens, something the store just called chicken feed. After that he spent a lot more time trying calm his cow down; she was pissed and refused to give any milk. She’d had access to water, so he just assumed the female version of cows somehow learned from women that denying men access to the bounty of breasts was just the thing to do to make sure he really, really understood what not to do again. Fine. He snorted a bit at her nasty temperament though because he knew full well what it was like to go without and for more than one day too! Hell there was that one time he and Arthur had to hide out in an old outhouse for two days trying to keep out of sight of some of the dumbest lawmen he’d ever encountered. Even if they had food, he doubted he would’ve been able to stomach it, and if it weren’t for Arthur threatening to blast his way out of that old abandoned building, John wouldn’t have drunk any water either. Even if he did tell another fella about that horrible experience, he’d have to convince the man it wasn’t even close to one of the worst experiences of his life for at least one primary and really important reason, because Arthur was there. The man barked orders, insulted the rest of the gang as often as he helped them, but his presence just gave… hope when there shouldn’t have been any. Funny thing was, as soon as Dutch and Hosea came looking, managed to convince that pathetic posse they’d seen the two of them go some other way, they went right for the building, as if they knew, just knew it’s where their sorry boys would wind up. 

He must’ve sighed aloud at the memory because Arthur had entered the barn and questioned him. “John?”

“You remember that one time we got stuck in an outhouse for a couple of days?”

Arthur frowned immediately and glanced over his shoulder as if he really expected someone who respected him for the tough and gruff exterior he showcased all those years before might walk in and overhear them. “I thought we agreed to never talk about that?”

“You.” John began with weight behind his words. “Told me to never talk about that situation again; there was no agreeing. Besides, there aren’t many people that can embarrass us now. Most of them men are dead or gone and the rest like us enough I figure they’d overlook or enjoy the tale and the others just want to kill us anyway.”

Arthur huffed briefly. “Probably right. Why you thinking of it now?”

“Cause this spoiled cow thinks she gone and wandered the desert just for missing one day of meals. Now she isn’t giving milk and threatening to kick my skull in.”

The older man dunk his hand in a nearby bucket of water, turning it slightly red. “A few days without milk won’t make any of us suffer much.”

“You meant didn’t you?”

Arthur rose his brow in question. “About the milk?”

“If I didn’t drink that water while we were stuck in that stinking and rotting building you were just going to walk out that door and get yourself all shot-up, do something real stupid?”

The blonde opened his mouth, closed it, and then tried it again. “It was real hot those days. Sure as rain I was going to go out shooting and give you a chance over watching you swelter, dehydrate and die right next to me. You… you know that John. Even then I think.”

“Not sure I did.” John replied honestly. He approached the man still standing over the dirtied water bucket, grabbed his partner’s hands and lifted them, not seeing any cuts or blisters, nothing to show where the blood came from. “I mean I chased you around like a shadow, looked up to you for, well everything, but I’m not sure I really understood then what I know now. Like, well like you and Dutch and Hosea… those nights when I ate at the campfire and the rest of you didn’t, some of that was a lie right? You guys didn’t ride back having already ate in town or someplace I just imagined in my head was better than what I got? Some of those nights you went without and gave all we had to… me?”

“That ain’t mine John. Rachel’s.” Arthur freed one hand and ran his fingers lightly over his growing beard. “It’s called growing up John. You took longer than some other folks, maybe even most, but you mostly have it now.” He paused. “You were just a boy. It weren’t right to have you without. We had some bad days sometimes, bad seasons even but mostly I knew we’d get ours eventually.” 

“She hurt?” John frowned briefly, his mind kind of wandering while trying to track the separate subjects. “Dutch cared then right? I mean he wouldn’t go hungry for nothing?”

“She has some old wounds I let ooze out and some other injuries. I used some of the roots and things like, well like Kieran mentioned. Those should heal in time. She cleaned up real fine John. Once she calms a bit, she’ll make you a good mount, already knows how to follow her rider and everything, just need that trust, that bonding.”

John smiled. “He’d like that right? Knowing he helped save an animal even after death?”

“Yeah, like that real fine I imagine. If she gives us a good colt, specially a skittish one we gotta work with, maybe we’ll call him Duffy.”

John snorted briefly. “Well hopefully we get a couple cause I don’t know that I can properly send a Duffy away from here. It wouldn’t seem right. You ready for this wagon?”

Arthur followed him to the wagon instead of answering although once John worked the blanket off he began talking again. “It’s right trying to remember them?”

And this became a reversal from what Arthur usually did. Instead of voicing a question as a statement or a demand, his tone suggested this was a real one or an uncertainty at best. “Yeah, yeah probably. I gotta be honest with you Arthur. I wanted to forget you, real fast like. I asked Abigail not to bring you up, and I hoped Jack would just stop asking questions someday soon.”

“My name hurt yah?” Arthur asked quietly while accepting a little buckskin case with a clip from John. 

“Like having each of my arms and legs ripped off every day and then being kicked in the stomach just to be sure.” John wound up whispering. He didn’t mean to do that and only realized he done it when Arthur sort of leaned forward so he could hear. “I know it was the wrong thing to do, but I intended to do it anyway.”

Arthur sighed. “It’s not always the words John that show love. It’s good to say them I guess but… but the more Dutch said things the less he meant them in the end, but back then, yeah he cared John. I don’t know what happened, not really, probably never will but when we drank coffee while you ate for a few days, no one forced any of us. You were our boy, our pain-in-ass, mouthy, wouldn’t follow even simple fucking directions, worth a shit scrawny boy.”

Carefully John opened the little case Arthur held revealing a sharp pair of scissors, a straight edge razor, hair shave brush, and a bar of shaving soap. “Not scarred as much then though.” He smiled once he realized Arthur weren’t looking away.

Hesitantly Arthur ran his fingers along the outline of each item in his new kit as if discovering the quality only by feeling it. “John, you didn’t have to do this. The one I had before was a lot simpler than this. It was just fine, did the job.”

“If you think that’s too much then I guess you might get really sore with me over the other two.”

“Other two?”

A few minutes later they set a wall mirror propped against a barn wall and bale of hay, which had a tiny crack in the corner, and of course it was the large metal bathtub that actually drew a few clicks of a tongue from Arthur. They were panting by the time they got that heavy thing out of the tub and near Arthur’s stall. 

Too long, John thought, that they stood there together looking at it, him glancing at Arthur and the older man doing his darnest not to meet his eyes. At least a dozen different emotions played across Arthur’s face as the man peered at it as if trying to decide, real hard, how to respond to the gift or, not too unlike the man, puzzle in his head that somehow this was brought home for someone other than him. 

“So we…”

“You.” John didn’t even let him finish that line of thought out loud. “I brought this home for you Arthur. Unless you plan on living in it, I suspect others will use it but make no mistake old man it’s for you. I don’t really know anyone else who loves them more than you do?”

“Baths?”

“Hot baths. The man in the store told me the umm, umm, ra… well how many hot buckets to cold it takes to fill. It’s a little banged up but not thin in any place. They got a replacement in one of the hotels so didn’t need it anymore and that mirror has a tiny crack so rich folk don’t want it. I figure we’ll be happy with them for years.”

Arthur’s blue eyes lifted to meet John’s hopeful gaze. The younger man saw the guilt there, but there was something else too, something welling up in the corner of those light eyes, and John noticed how Arthur’s hands opened and closed into fists like his lover felt something deep inside and just wanted to burn it out by fighting in a bar like he used to do back when they ran with the gang. Instead Arthur tried a tactic Hosea teached him pretty good, de… diversion. “I saw a sled in there for… Jack?”

Stupid question, of course, but John would play for a little bit if it made this a little easier for Arthur to accept. “It’s got one busted board and one cracked one. I figure we can fix it in a few hours, easily have it ready for snow. I got Abigail one of those dumb things for making dresses and some fabrics… like the ends of the rolls or something. The woman said it should be plenty for some pretty dresses and other things.” John cocked his head slightly to the side, walked back to his wagon and began to pull out a few cases of peaches and apricots, plus a case of canned beef. 

Arthur approached the stack cautiously. “Dummy.” He murmured.

“I am not!” John scoffed at the insult. Arthur called him names as he gave the man gifts he knew, just knew would touch his heart.

Arthur raised his hat briefly and gave John a slight smirk. “It’s what you got her John, a dummy. I think Trelawny said fancy folk call them dress forms.”

“Ooh…” John felt his cheeks warm, and he scratched the back of his head and then cleared his throat. “So about the bath and the mirror.”

“Whatcha planning on doing with all these cans?” Arthur glanced at him, another delay tactic but not for long. “I don’t rightly know how to thank you for those two things John. It’s embarrassing to think about, but I…” Eyes glanced away from the cans and just focused on the bale of hay nearby. “You knew I would like them.”

“Emergency supply and hunting. I hope to go hunting with you when things get real cold and to get more meat. Sides with Uncle coming just before winter, we’ll need more meat.” John’s voice lowered briefly. “I think you love those gifts, but you can’t bring yourself to say it. You can thank me by helping me hang that one in your room and sharing a bath with me… tonight.”

Arthur swallowed thickly. “Uncle?”

John nodded. “I guess he’s been drinking himself to the ground in some city. I got his letter and told him to come. I figure he can have the couch until I get a ranch hands house up or something. I know that’s a thing.”

“I could watch over anyone you hire, manage Uncle maybe even sleep…”

“You’re staying in the house Arthur, even if I have to knock over a wall and get you a bedroom with a window to keep you in there.”

Arthur glanced at the floor. “It weren’t a complaint John. I just want to be useful.”

“You helped me get a tub out of the wagon, and a mirror. We’ve got two Thoroughbreds I’m just sure we can not only ride well but breed; the fence is all fixed up, and we both know you’re the better hunter. You’re more than useful, and I’m tired of trying to convince you of that. We can better spend our energy doing other things you know?”

Arthur snorted briefly. “You about to proposition me again?”

John lifted his chin stubbornly. “Bout to tell you to help me get your things in your room and that there dress form into the house with the fabric and stuff. You can help make sure Abigail don’t burn nothing in the kitchen while I get the water heated for this bath, and then we can enjoy it. Is that a proposition? If it is, then I sure as hell am propositioning you Arthur Morgan.”

Arthur lifted his hat slightly and gave the younger man a brief glower. “I… I don’t rightly know. It’s a plan though, and if I’m to agree with it so maybe it is. I just…”

“Until we get someone around here smarter than the both of us, it seems like we should focus less on the words and more on the fact that I got you a bath with some nice soaps, and I know how to fill it. I want to relax tonight with you, and you’re being a goddamn ass about answering me about it.”

“Fair enough.” Arthur admitted. “I just, I’m nervous John. We haven’t shared a bath like this before.”

“Rivers, lakes, tiny ass creeks…”

“And you know that’s different. This is more… familiar. It ain’t like you ever entered any of those other ones because you wanted to either.”

“We won’t have sex Arthur.”

Blue eyes regarded him suspiciously. “We won’t?”

“Oh I’m sure we will one day but not tonight. Tonight ain’t about that. Tonight’s about relaxing and trying to go back to what we were like earlier… when you trusted me.”

Arthur shook his head and glared at the wagon. “It wasn’t just lack of trust. John I just...” His shoulder’s slumped in defeat, clearly not able to say what he felt he needed to say. 

“Let’s get these things in the house, and we’ll worry about this talking when we get to the bath.”

Arthur nodded although on their way into the house during their second trip with the larger mirror he made a quiet comment to the other man. “I don’t usually have a lot of talking during my baths John.”

“You oughta know better than to think I’ll be quiet during an entire bath with you Arthur.” John laughed quietly at the thought what else did someone do in a bath anyway cept clean and maybe sing? He wasn’t a singer.

“What if I, well what if I want you to be?” There was no accusation there, no anger just a sheepish inquiry really.

“You’ll have better luck with that when we have one not shortly after you working yourself to death while starving to boot.”

“Promise?”

Well that was new. There’d always been plenty of people who gently asked or just damn near demanded promises from Arthur, and John offered him plenty recently but for the man to ask… actually hope to get one in return, well John thought that might be some kind of progress although he’d never be able to actually explain why. “Yeah Arthur. I promise.” They set the mirror up at the back of the wall in the small bedroom within minutes, and he even set the shaving kit in that little chest. Arthur stood uncomfortably in front of the glass clearly not wanting to look at himself but at least not fleeing from the image or making those terrible sayings about him being ugly and stuff. Hoping to ease into the mood a little bit, John placed an arm around Arthur and gave him a quick squeeze. “We’ll have quiet nights. I promise Old Boy. Just, a few things need to be said, but I won’t make your ears bleed. Trust me?”

Arthur looked away from the mirror and focused on the man beside him. “I know it don’t look it or sound like it, but I trust you more than most John, more than anyone else alive even.”

“Good, cause I trust you to try and help my wife not burn something tonight.” He kissed Arthur gently on the cheek. “I’ll get the bath nice and hot so it won’t cool during dinner.”

A slight smile formed. “Something gotta be wrong for you to voluntarily take a bath.” Arthur paused. “And we’ll go hunting plenty John, this winter, but I don’t want Jack to be a middling hunter. We can do better than that, or at least I can. Soon as your… our boy can take a kickback from a small rifle, he’s going to come with… sometimes. If, if I need to negotiate for that then, then maybe we can do a little more in the bath than talk tonight.”

John snorted but didn’t argue. For some folks, it seemed strange to know Arthur actually listened that well. For him, that was Arthur, that was the big lug that went around helping their family and random folks, acting all dumb, pretending to be a vicious dog and eager to beat and kill others when really there was no one else in the world he’d ever known who looked at the world and listened to it better than Arthur Morgan.

John left the man to help his wife keeping that observation to himself and humming just a bit because he was pretty sure he just got Arthur to agree to doing what he wanted without either of them really firming up that was the case. He kept another observation to himself too, this one a little less happy making because there was something wrong when his lover, still recovering from his illness and foolishness, remained too uncomfortable to see his reflection in that mirror and Arthur still, still didn’t think he was worth a few nice things, secondhand items even. Having a bath together, almost actually asking for more than scrubbing in the bath, maybe, just maybe though Arthur Morgan thought he was worth some affection, some sex and that, that he would take… for now.


	6. Chapter 6 – Family Supper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John revealed his family's gifts to Arthur, maybe as an attempt to help make the man feel more at home, maybe as a means to show him he's loved, or maybe just because it's what John knows to do. Either way, John asked him to take a more active role with the evenings meal, and it kind of leads to unexpected results.

Arthur helped Abigail find a spot for her dress form and the fabrics which involved some minor listening, and her hand waving which suited him just fine because he let his mind travel somewhere else and didn’t have to say anything. When she went to the kitchen to begin supper, Arthur entered his room, used a match to start his lantern and then just looked at himself in the mirror. It’d been some time since he done that, just sort of examine himself like he used to do in the hotel rooms, and he wasn’t too sure how he felt about the man looking back at him. The red blotches along his nose and cheeks, around his neck were gone. The shiny and pale look of his skin was replaced by just a slight sheen from working, maybe working a little too hard since he hadn’t recovered from his efforts building the shed. Arthur didn’t stand up straight just right, his beard was too long and so was his hair. His eyes looked, well they didn’t have those obvious red veins crawling within them anymore. Cautiously he lifted his shirt, ran his harsh fingers along a chest that didn’t have bones protruding from it. Arthur just didn’t look like he was dying anymore, which he mostly knew based on how the others were looking at him now even if he felt smaller alright, a little reduced with sadder eyes, somewhat weaker but only if he compared himself when needing to haul some fool through snow, lift a heavy carcass too far or too high or just bash a man’s face in, things normal folk likely didn’t do. It still seemed so strange though, not dying, not really killing or even chasing someone else’s impossible dream. Hell even standing here considering himself like some sort of vain city folk seemed a dumb thing to do when he knew John was down there heating up heavy buckets of water, alone, and Abigail cooked and Jack, well he didn’t really know what Jack did but probably something more useful than just stare at himself. 

He opened his mouth to say something cold, to remind himself what an ugly mug he had, to recant the things he’d heard about being a dumb country boy with a middling look, not good enough for a fine woman or even worthwhile to hold the interest of most for very long except… well that wasn’t true was it? John might not ever be able to work on a stage or probably dazzle a town like some politician, but he had an easy smile, a ready laugh and the ladies took notice of someone so… hardened and young, evidently as did a couple of men. John had choices. John had Abigail. John chose him. No amount of appreciation or owing John his future explained something like that. When Arthur arrived, he could’ve come just as a brother, as a hired hand, but John gone and changed all that up with kissing and touching and sex… love. Arthur decided to put the chicken at risk to get a little pail of water. There weren’t nothing he could really do about the hair, but the beard, well he had a comb and some scissors and a razor, so he managed to clear that up some, get a consistent shadow, as John called it… just as John liked it. By the time he made it to the kitchen, Abigail was about to make the biscuits.

Now she hadn’t been cooking for very long, so it was understandable she had a habit of walking away from what she was making, checking on other things like laundry, Jack or something she left outside. As soon as she did he checked on what looked like a beef roast in the stove, the fire too hot and the flames too high. He took some time to shift the logs to the side, try and ease up on it and let some heat out as he added some salt and some pepper John picked up from the store. Of course he threw in a few carrots to the pot and a couple of potatoes. He looked at the start of the biscuits and frowned. It was hard to say what she was doing wrong with these, probably cooking too hot and maybe too long. When he took a taste, it lacked sugar so he added just a tiny amount as well as more butter and milk, and he kept adding milk until it was as thick as he remembered they ought to be.

“I didn’t know you knew how to cook Mr. Morgan.”

Unlike John, Arthur didn’t have any sort of natural fear of Abigail’s wrath. He figured no one else in this world would know how to stoke it better than John did anyhow, so he wasn’t too worried about it now. What kept him from interfering in the way the house was run though was a different kind of fear, of hurting a woman who’d been hurt too many times before and just been kind to him as long as he knew her. He also didn’t want her ever trying to repay him for anything he’d done. Whether it was trying to save her and Jack, keep the family safe so John could wise up and do that himself, well that was as much a selfish act as it was selfless although he doubted anyone else would really understand that. John and his family, the one good thing he’d ever do in life, something worthwhile and here he was, back again but not Lenny, not Sean or Kieran, men with short lives who should’ve had more time to do it right. Not even Hosea who tempered so much… evil in Dutch and those around him got a second go. Here he was fingers covered in wet dough as he formed the biscuits like it was any sort of natural thing to do. “Mrs. Grimshaw didn’t always have women to protect and be in charge of, so before that it was just a few of us. It’s been years and I did as I was told. I didn’t pay attention much beyond that; once I got good at other things, well some chores like cooking was just not as important to Dutch.”

Abigail placed a gentle hand on his shoulder and gave a tender squeeze. “Arthur. I was there. You can say it. Once you got good at thieving, killing and picking up leads Dutch didn’t want you spending hours in camp cleaning, cooking or just settling in for long; it was about the money, always about that damn money. It’s okay to say that here; we know. It might do you some good to say those things aloud. There ain’t no shame in it.”

Arthur glanced at her for a moment and resumed his task. “There’s plenty shame in killing innocent folk, lawmen, for so little money… any money I guess.”

“Well that’s better at least because we both know any amount of money wouldn’t make you feel better about the things you didn’t like.”

“Some of the bad stuff, I liked.” This part he didn’t like though, the talking, especially with Abigail because she was just, well she weren’t nothing bad like John and he’d been. “I’m sorry I came here and disturbed you and your boys.”

Abigail laughed softly and joined him. “John’s a lot of things, but he’s not my boy. He’s my husband, my idiot and love. From the way he’s been talking, I’d say you’re more his boy than he’s mine.”

Arthur shifted uncomfortably. “Sometimes he just needs to keep his damn mouth shut.” He growled, with more menace than intended.

“I’m not a fool Arthur. The two of you could be mute for a year, and I’d know. I knew it the moment he started pacing around this here house talking about how you were sleeping in the stable like you weren’t important enough for our house, like you didn’t deserve a bed and how thin you were, but your eyes… yeah that man talked a lot about your eyes Arthur.”

Arthur wanted to douse some light to hide his blush, but as it were his hands were too soiled to even lower his hat. “Abigail…”

“You and I should’ve talked sooner Arthur, but let me be real straight with you.” She dipped her hand in the bowl and formed biscuits too, larger ones like Arthur made. “I was round a lot of men, men with secrets, angry and drunk, sober and shy, dirty as hell and church goers. No matter what men like to say, the way you and John are with each other, it ain’t so strange. And I promise you our John, the father of my son, he’s never been so happy away from that gang and stuck in one house and in one part of the world as he is now that he’s been with you around. If you weren’t here, he’d be out drinking and making trouble like you wouldn’t believe, probably killing too.” Carefully she lined the pan with their effort. “And Jack loves you Arthur. He always did. Maybe he felt real comfortable with others too but not like he looked forward to doing things with you.”

For a little bit, Arthur stood there still with dirty hands until Abigail went to the sink, rinsed hers in and then motioned him to join her. Of course he did and while she dried his hand with towel, no doubt a habit she picked up in handling her child, Arthur replied. “John said you were okay with me being here, as we, as we are. I don’t know I right believed him.”

“Well that man is prone to mess up basic understanding, so I appreciate why you might think that.”

“That dress form, the fabric he got you, he… he right in getting that for you?”

Abigail smiled. “Yeah, he did good Arthur. I wanted some dresses, and I can sew. I have a kit and plenty of thread and needle. It’ll be nice to make a few nice things for me and more shirts for you three.”

“Shirts?”

“He brought back more than pretty fabric. He did real good this time except for that recipe and the things he got to go with it.” Abigail placed her hands on her hips. “Canned tomatoes for spaghetti.”

“The food Jack talked about from that, that man?” Arthur didn’t say Bronte’s name outright. Everything that happened there and to him, well it disturbed him on some deep level, even now because as bad as other things were that he’d seen, those other ones weren’t from the gang, not from someone he loved. It should’ve been a real clear warning too when it did happen.

“Yes, can you believe John wants me to try and make it? That man is out of his mind.”

Arthur gave a brief nod. John expecting Abigail to do that was something short of a train-wreck except… “Leave it in my room; I’ll look at it.”

Abigail beamed.

By the time Jack and John arrived at the dinner table, Abigail had put warm biscuits on their plates and Arthur carefully sliced the roast, admitting it was a little more done than he preferred but it wasn’t charred, tough and even retained some pink around the center. Before he could even distribute the meat, potatoes and carrots, John had his mouth stuffed with two biscuits, so Arthur dropped an extra spoonful of carrots on the other man’s plate with a glare, daring him to reject them.

“They’re sweet.” John mumbled trying to defend himself, crumbs dropping from his mouth.

Arthur took a seat and rebuked him softly. “You’re making a mess of yourself with Jack right here. What’s wrong with you Marston?”

John swallowed and downed some water with a brief grin. “It’s almost like I was raised around a campfire, often using a tin dish and little else… if I was even that lucky. Tell me Arthur, didn’t you use to rip off chunks of meat from your knife, didn’t even use a dish?”

Jack giggled.

Arthur leaned back slightly, glanced at Abigail who smiled at the two of them as well as Jack and John; their smiles actually resembled each other’s. “Out in the wild, you work with what you got. I don’t remember you complaining much when you were hungry.”

John gave Arthur a quick wink and grabbed a third roll. “Arthur’s just sore because I like your rolls tonight Abigail.”

Arthur sighed, but she took it in stride.

“You’re thanking the wrong person John. The man you put in the kitchen to guard your meal actually cooked most of it.” She pressed her chin against the back of her knuckles. “I don’t know if you noticed John, but Arthur shaved his neck and cut his beard real low. If you’re not careful, I might have to steal him from you.”

He did his best; he really did, but Arthur could feel his entire face begin to shift red. Seeing how John liked to tease him, hint at their physical relations subtly, maybe he thought he’d be used to it by now but it weren’t so. Abigail’s efforts were just out there, and the only one at the table unaware of what she was talking about was their boy who just cut at his roast like he didn’t really know how to use a knife. It was only a few years after his age that John would’ve killed his first man, and that, well that didn’t set just right with Arthur. There needed to be a way to teach the boy to defend himself, to be strong without, without making him a killer. So instead of continuing to wallow in embarrassment, Arthur ignored husband and wife to carefully show Jack how stop killing his meal all over again and cut proper like. “Slow and steady. No, hold it like that, there you go. It ain’t no race. No one will take your meal from you so just…” He smiled when Jack began to do it right and only then noticed both John and Abigail looking at them, two pairs of eyes and smiles directed right at him.

A little unnerved again, Arthur finished his meal and politely excused himself to go out to the porch and smoke. In the back of his mind he heard the doctors telling him to layoff the smokes, but also that he was dying. It weren’t really unhappiness though that he tried to avoid this time, just getting something to do with his hands as he thought and thought too hard. He cooked a meal today, mostly, a family meal and for his family, people he loved; they even loved him back. He hadn’t done anything like that since he was younger and the gang was more like a tight family. He’d never done that for Eliza or Isaac, although Eliza cooked pretty well, she let him clean-up readily enough. Let. That’s what felt different now too. He was often asking permission to do things, could he help with firewood or washing or fixing that fence. This was different. If he’d asked Abigail if he should help, she would’ve said no and probably send him away with choice words for John for the suggestion. Maybe sometimes he felt like he shouldn’t be in the way, or around, but not just now when the two of them teased each other over his sex with John while he helped Jack… so why was that?

Natural.

It felt, well almost right to just show a young boy to cut a piece of meat. It almost reminded him when he took John away from Hosea and Dutch the first time they went camping for a few days. John never really felt at home out in the wild with him, didn’t like those noises and couldn’t tell the difference, most times, from the ones that were threats and a rabbit just too curious for his own good. Arthur closed his eyes, remembering John when he was curious, unsure and so full of self-doubt there were times Arthur wasn’t sure John would ever get going on his own, but in the end Arthur wound up being the one doubting his place, fearing being cast out, and John was just getting, well mad mostly but trusted Arthur enough to guide him. John trusted Arthur with a lot, and here he was having a hard time trusting John. He knew that wasn’t fair.

John joined him on the porch after a little while. “So it true? You really cooked that meat and those biscuits?” He pulled out a cigarette himself and somehow looked more relaxed in a few seconds than Arthur managed to do within a few minutes.’

“Ever know her to lie?”

“No.” John admitted.

Arthur followed John’s gaze out to their land, the stars and moon high and bright enough to let them not only see the buildings but the trees and garden, even an owl or something fly not too far away. “Why’d you ask then?”

“I wanted to hear you say it, say John I cooked those biscuits you really liked.”

Arthur glanced at him. “Why’s that?”

“Cause you did what I asked, and it weren’t too bad an outcome right?”

A smile formed slowly. “John, sometimes you have the worst luck I’ve ever seen. You damn near knocked yourself out hanging onto a wagon when you hit your head on that sign.”

“Fucking Bill took that corner sharp and you know it.” John huffed.

“You rolled a wagon all by yourself.”

“Wheel been loose for days.”

Arthur took a couple more puffs and put it out, not wanting to overdo it. “And the Italian’s gun misfires, or has no bullets, I’m thinking we’re the luckiest men alive and what happens…”

“I get hit by his goddamn empty gun right in the face.” John laughed lowly. “It hurt too!”

“I remember, you made a fuss about it and everything.” Arthur took a breath, a deep one although he ended in a light cough that he felt bad about when John gave him that worried look. “S’Okay. I just, just a hard day is all. I, I liked tonight.”

John’s dark eyes told him the younger man felt pulled in two directions. He wanted to address the coughing, the cooking and who knew what else, but the other part wanted to focus on what Arthur said, about liking dinner, about the niceness of it. “Yeah?”

“I got to use my new kit, talked to Abigail a little and…” Arthur grinned briefly. “John I cooked those biscuits you really liked.”

And of course John beamed, a big wide smile that just lit up that handsome and scarred face of his. “You ready for the next part then?”

“The bath.”

“The bath.” John confirmed.

Arthur took a breath, gave a brief nod and headed to the stables.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was a little wordy in some places, so apologies for that.
> 
> For those enjoying the holiday today, I hope you have a great time!


	7. Chapter 7 – The Bath

Arthur realized as soon as he stepped into the stables he should’ve expected something like this. For all their bitching and moaning, chastising and teachings, and sometimes severe punishments, John got raised just as Dutch showed him to be even if it turned out not to be what the man wanted and what gave the rest of them a whole lot of grief. See Arthur saw it early on in the boy, as John listened to the older men ramble on, brag even, about glorious days and dismiss the regretful ones. John Marston gone and turned into a dreamer, and the boy dreamed big. Thinking back, it made no real sense that any of them expected less, expected him to ever just settle for anything when he thought he could get better. Hosea and Arthur, they went simple most the time, calm and quiet if they could manage, real easy like. They didn’t boast much, which was a real shame cause Hosea showcased a real art as he weaved tales and entrapped others like flies with silky and unassuming webbing. Dutch, he watched others real good, played to their greed and pride… even desperate hopes. For his own gang he often came to them with a boastful tale, spun them up good with an ultimately impossible dream, one Arthur counted on for too long. Nervously Arthur stood in a darkened stable with at least a dozen candles spread out around the tub, a bottle of wine with two tin cups nearby, and the water sprinkled with some sort of oil that smelled of a meadow recently kicked up by a couple of horses, rich and earthy. Right next to the bathtub John had laid out a pair of scissors and a comb on a fluffy towel, just like the kind they’d find in a hotel, plush and inviting. No, nothing that involved John ever remained small and unassuming for long, and this turned out no different. Arthur just wasn’t sure he was ready to handle so much, so much consideration and thought, even now.

John came up behind him, and Arthur knew it was him not just because no one else would come but because of that swagger, those off-beat steps and the way his metal clinked gently with each motion. He knew because of the way his young lover slowed up just behind him before placing a hand against Arthur’s lower back, and he knew when those lips pressed against the back of his neck and left a wet cool spot in their place shortly after. 

“Thought you were just heating up water?” The older man asked.

“Oh I did that. It might even be too hot. I put in an extra bucket because I didn’t know how long we’d be up there.” John whispered against his ear. “You look good Arthur. Did you shave because of, for me?”

Near his boot, Arthur found some wet straw where John might’ve stumbled with a heavy bucket. It made it easier to focus for a moment as he considered his answer because the truth was if it weren’t for John he might’ve considered growing a beard out for winter so… yeah, yeah he did it for John. “I figure you’re more than worth a quick shave and a short cut. I wanted…” He paused and frowned. “I tried to see what you wanted me to see in that mirror you gave me.”

John ran his fingers lightly down Arthur’s shoulder which felt real good because every muscle in Arthur’s body felt too tight and ached in some way. It was all catching up to him now, no sense in running from what he did anymore. “Did you see it?”

The blonde shook his head quickly because it was true; he didn’t. But… “Maybe I didn’t see the ugly mug anymore, the sick man dying. Maybe I saw something better than that.” Was it enough to say that? Arthur hoped so because he wasn’t sure he could do better, even if John asked him to.

The brunette walked in front of him and gave a brief smile, dark eyes shining as if it really was enough this time. “Absolutely more than that. If you undress, climb in, I’ll wash your hair so I can give you a cut.”

Blue eyes shifted between the steaming tub, the scissors and John. “I feel like I might be putting my ears at risk with those in your hand. They look sharp.”

John laughed. “Come on Arthur. You showed me where to stab a man in the heart, how to slit his throat real clean and quiet like… you don’t think I can handle a pair of scissors?”

“You’ve yet to show me a properly skinned hare or rabbit John. You get all excited with kills while your heart’s pumping but no patience for skinning or fishing, no patience for anything really.”

John motioned with his chin towards the stall. “How long I come out here, every night with an extra lantern, just to watch you scrawl in your journal, barely eat, mourn in that stall instead of eating what you should and sleeping where you ought to?”

Arthur followed his gaze. “Too long, I guess.” He could easily admit that much.

“Was I patient then? Weren’t you proud then?”

Surprise sort of swirled itself inside Arthur’s heart, a cool and warm and not unpleasant so much as a curious feeling. “That still matter to you John?”

“You being proud of me?” He seemed surprised by Arthur’s question too.

“Yeah.”

They suddenly entered one of the rare occasions John couldn’t hold his gaze. “Always. Always Arthur.”

Arthur approached the younger man, lifted his hand to John’s scruffy face. He had to admit, the coarse hairs against his palm, the way his fingers glided over this scruff did kind of feel good, as little as there was. “It’s hard sometimes, being your brother, being your lover and being a man you look up to. I just, I don’t always know what to focus on. John, I’ve been proud of you for a long time, long time now.” Those dark eyes turned into two deep pools of hope and trust when they met his gaze again, like the ones a young boy used to show him when he’d gone and done something John seemed so pleased with. It was like Arthur hadn’t actually lost that John, just gained a stronger and more responsible one that helped him forward more often than not now. That warm feeling in his heart grew. “What you’ve done here is just… it’s…” He swallowed thickly. “Kind, sweet… I ain’t had a lot of that in my life. You sure as hell didn’t learn that from me.”

“I did though Arthur. Your breed of kindness might not of come with candles and expensive oils, but you picked me up when I fell down; you gave me food when I was hungry, sometimes having to go out and get it even when your bones ached or you just went without… even more so than I knew then. Sometimes… you’d tell me I was stupid, clumsy, and didn’t learn right fast enough…” 

Arthur flinched, feeling bad, real bad about that. Their rivalry, fighting, well it been pretty fierce even before the boy left them for that year. “John…”

John raised his hand and continued. “But you let me climb onto your cot and rest with you when it was real cold or I was scared or hurting. You’d whisper nice things to me when you thought I was asleep, telling me I’d do better next time. Hell you’d lie to Dutch and Hosea even to take the fall for me.” Dark eyes remained steady with his gaze even when it seemed like John let emotions glisten them. “You got yourself a temper Arthur Morgan, like a stick of dynamite about to go off sometimes, but when it mattered, you was sweet and kind. It didn’t matter if it came with a growl sometimes, or you said something mean; in the end you put yourself on the line for me, every time. In the end, I kind of realized it wasn’t just cause you were ordered to do it.”

“I should, should probably work on that temper.” Arthur murmured, knowing he should respond better than that not but still didn’t know exactly how to do this conversation just right. “If you listened better you know I might not of had to patch you up so much, or save your sorry ass.”

“What you should do is get your ass in that tub, so I can cut your hair and then join you.” John smiled as he said it, so there was an understanding there between them, one Arthur felt like he was getting used to.

After a pause Arthur nodded and moved to a bale of hay to pull his boots and socks off, then his suspenders and shirt. He slowed a bit when it came to his pants, looking at the slightly ajar stable doors, noticing the horses as clear as day due to the candles. For a moment Arthur just remained as he was, not looking at John or anything, as he thought about the mirror and how he didn’t seem as bad as he used to think he was and how Abigail’s assurance made him feel even more welcome. He’d undressed so many times before, in-front of John, Hosea and Dutch, and others, often had his clothes stripped clear off when Mrs. Grimshaw sewed him up, nursed him to health. It shouldn’t be that different now because he trusted John more than ever, past the point where even after having sex together his worry about his partner suddenly realizing how much better out there he could have, well he’d already said he liked him as is. Thickly Arthur swallowed and glanced at John who oddly enough managed to notice Arthur’s unease and found himself a post to lean against, hiding his eyes under his hat even. “John…” 

Despite being unable to disguise the uncertainty from his voice, as soon as the younger man revealed his eyes, Arthur stood and worked himself out of his jeans and just kept removing things until the last piece he set on the hay was his brown hat. Then he stood there, naked, exposed, his chin raised just a bit and waited, for who the hell knew what, but he waited just the same.

Now John wasn’t often one that needed to be invited twice for something. He jumped right up to follow anyone, especially Arthur, to anywhere he thought might be more exciting than camp. It’s like John felt the world was leaving on a train without him if he stayed still too long, so Arthur wasn’t too surprised when John just marched right over and placed a hand on Arthur’s hip, fingers curling against the bone and muscle there; John kissed him. It was a nice kiss too, not so aggressive like some of his earlier ones, ones that shared with them both how possessive, how eager and in control John as a lover wanted to be. It wasn’t too exploratory or thoughtfully gentle either like the times when John thought he might scare Arthur off. This was, well, just like Arthur wanted right now, no message just affection, just nice. When their lips parted Arthur smiled and felt a blush form again even as he scolded his young lover, slightly. “You don’t have to come stomping over here real quick like. You know I, well I don’t find this easy.”

“You ain’t as skittish as you think old man.” John challenged with a continued grin. “I knew you were ready even if you didn’t. You ain’t the only one that knows their lover real well. You need help into that bath?”

It’d be too easy to abandon this whole bath idea and just do John’s favorite and seemingly sole purpose in life, roll in the hay right here except Arthur really did look forward the bath, and his sore body desperately wanted calm and heat and the promise of that peace over a quick romp, and his barely noticeable arousal said as much. John even glanced down briefly to take note but didn’t seem to mind none. “You went to a lot of trouble for this bath John. No sense wasting it. Beside we’ve not ever had a chance to share… think we can both fit?”

“Oh I know it. I gave the store owner two dollars to sit in it with me.” 

John’s grin partnered with his mirthful eyes told Arthur he wasn’t lying; the older man still had to ask though. “What possessed you to ask something like that?”

“I learned from a couple of smart men who read others pretty good that he’d be willing to do it, and I really wanted the right size, almost as much as he wants money.”

Arthur smiled himself and approached the bath. It took everything Arthur had left not to ask for a stool or a bale, anything really, to help him get into this thing, but somehow he managed to lift his thick thighs and legs and get it done. The fact that it might be the hottest damn bath he ever climbed into meant nothing because as soon as his body settled properly, it felt like what he imagined heaven ought to feel like. The fragrance reminded him of a clean and free world, and it had to be the nearest the perfect gift ever given to him, aside from his first journal, aside from a room in a house that weren’t his. When he felt John’s fingers move through his too long hair and then a bucket of water doused his head, well he didn’t care if his young lover cut his ears clean off; Arthur had no intention of moving.

About fifteen minutes later, with his hair significantly shorter and sporting only a tiny nick on one ear that Arthur didn’t even respond to, John stripped quickly, just dropping his clothes right where they fell, and joined him. As promised, they fit.

For a while both men closed theirs eyes and let it all out, the pain, recent experiences and heart ache… just took the edge right off from the last several days. Arthur ran his fingers along John’s glistening shoulders and arms, noticing, once again, how their lanky kid filled out nicely but would likely never actually be heavy set, not like he was. He wondered, not for the first time, how often John just enjoyed moments like these before he arrived. And resting like they were, well it gave him time to think back to all the hours of breaking his back, challenging his arms and just working too reckless in the pouring rain. Mrs. Grimshaw would’ve tanned his hide good for that, told he him he was never too old for a good belting, so he could only imagine how worried and angry John been when he came home and found him like he was, sick and in a desperate way. 

“Whatcha thinking about?” John asked quietly.

“What makes you think I’m thinking at all?”

“You’re kind of doing that thing you do.”

“Thing?” Arthur rose his brow slightly.

“Kind of humming while not talking.”

“Didn’t know I did that.” Arthur huffed briefly. “How bad I messed up these past few days I guess. Feeling it real good now that I ain’t moving much… and about Susan. She died in agony because of me.”

“Because of us, for us, and you know, as much as she probably wanted something different in the end, she would’ve stepped in front of that bullet for you or me even if she knew the outcome. Tough woman. Tough love.”

Arthur gave a brief nod. “I would’ve done better for her if I could.”

“You couldn’t, and she would’ve known that. She chose us Arthur, me and you… and Charles said he gave her a real nice grave.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

Arthur smiled briefly. He wasn’t ever certain he might get back to that mountain, to see something like that or the place he should’ve died. Maybe one day, maybe. 

“Accepting that mirror, accepting them horses’ names… teaching Jack to cut, I figure you’re working your way back to my good graces.”

Arthur laughed, just a heavy and deep sound straight from the chest. “Your good graces?” He shook his head, still chuckling. “I never thought I’d see the day where I would need to get back into your good graces Marston.”

John glanced over his shoulder, shot him an evil eye and then settled down again. “Oh you might never admit it. It’s okay. I know you’ve been trying anyway.”

He got a huff in response. “Probably trying too hard most days, long before then. I just…” Arthur shifted in the water and decided drop his fingers lower and wrap them around John’s chest. This wasn’t efficient washing, but with the water as hot as it was and the nice fragrance, and well John, he didn’t want to hurry things. “John I don’t know that I’ll ever feel as confident in all this as you do. I’m just so used to others leaving me. I don’t know I’ll ever believe you won’t when things turn real sour fast.”

“I’d marry you in a heartbeat if the state allowed it to prove it. Thing is, I just can’t.”

Arthur’s heart slammed deep into his throat. John said it so casual like, like it was just a thing to say, like it was just a fact, as if he hadn’t spent so many days, years even, working towards marriage, a family, only never to get it. “John… that’s silly. No man can go marrying another man, and you already married Abigail.” How he managed to keep his voice steady, even accomplished to snigger a little was beyond him.

John suddenly shifted more, just turned around and straddled Arthur, his thighs and ass rubbing against Arthur’s knees and the tops of his thighs. The naked young man with too long, thin and now wet hair and a face that seemed too earnest and too eager and handsome, even with those scars, looked him straight in the eye and repeated almost the same damn thing. “You don’t believe me, but I would. Arthur Morgan, I’d put a ring on your finger right now and prove to the world I ain’t ever leaving you if I could manage it somehow, and not for any other man, not to call you husband, just so’s you would know you’re mine, and I ain’t ever letting go.”

Not a husband, not just a man, just him. Arthur returned the gaze, but he didn’t really know what to say, again. Without really thinking about it, his eyes dropped to his wet hands, to his bare finger. 

“Next time we’re in town, I’ll get you one.” John murmured. 

“That’d be a waste of money John, money we don’t have. Besides I don’t need…”

John leaned in real close, pressed his lips against Arthur’s, but he didn’t kiss him, not really. Instead his lover simply whispered more assurances and thoughts. “I need it. I need to put it on your finger. I need to say the words until death do us part, and you do need to hear it.”

Arthur lifted his chin ever so slightly, wanting that kiss, confused really by what John was saying and the mixed feelings he had in response to it. “Why you need it?”

“So even when we’re fighting you know only death will end it all, and even then I’m hoping the fella up there will make sure married folks get to be together… and to make sure every little hussy and fucker within a hundred miles of you knows you’re taken.”

Now that sounded more like the John he knew, and Arthur couldn’t help but grin against those lips still pressed against his. They kissed this time, and that aggressiveness, that demand John liked to push, well it showed up again, and Arthur didn’t mind at all. He kind of liked that feeling most the time, when things were quiet and private, he didn’t mind the idea of actually being owned, whatever that entailed in John’s head. “I don’t think I can, don’t have the strength to be with you tonight.”

Their lips parted and John gave a brief if curious nod. Instead of pulling away though John dropped his hand from Arthur’s neck, to his shoulder, ran his palm down his chest and dipped into the steaming water to wrap his fingers around Arthur’s mildly interested cock. “Despite what those silly dime novels say bout having sex in the water, it really don’t work so well. It just ruins lube and slick and well, trust me, I tried.”

Any other moment and if John hadn’t almost proposed to him just before, Arthur would’ve asked for more detail and then scolded him for whatever it was John admitted to doing. Instead blue eyes vanished behind tired lids, and he felt the John’s coarse fingers, softened by the bath, gently glide along his cock, and it felt good.

“Just relax.” John encouraged softly. “Don’t move, just… let go.”

“John…” Arthur whispered. 

“Nothing strenuous.” His young lover promised.

“You’ll ruin our bath water.” Arthur continued his objective.

“Think you’ll ruin it actually. I’ll pour us another one.” 

“Ain’t got time for another one tonight.” Arthur felt his ability to resist those fingers start to fade. “Please, another, another time. Please.” Was he really begging John not to have sex now, and would the other man even listen?

John reached over the side of the tub to fish out a small washcloth Arthur didn’t realize was tucked in the larger towel. He dragged it through the scented water and began to concentrate on Arthur’s shoulders, the one that took the close-up shotgun first. Maybe this was a way for John to admit his defeat without saying.

“You ever bathe with anyone before Arthur?” John asked quietly.

He shook his head. “No, just some ladies helped when I paid for deluxe.”

“Deluxe?” John looked up from his task.

“Yeah deluxe bath.”

“What they do, and what you pay them?”

“Mostly what you’re doing, less talking if I wanted. Fifty cents.” Arthur tried to relax again, thinking about the last time he had a bath and realizing it was the night they had the nice dinner John planned out, with all the good clothes and then after when he…

Just then John clicked his tongue and chuckled. “I figure you owe me fifty cents then. Arthur, you’re getting hard. Was one of them pretty? Did you not do it with Mary?”

Quickly Arthur blinked away the memory, although oddly he didn’t feel nearly as embarrassed as he normally would, maybe because that last question drew his attention right away. “I wasn’t thinking about them or Mary. I was thinking about you John.” He frowned, mulled another confession around in his mind, and decided to give it. “Mary and I never got that friendly.”

Once again John stopped what he was doing, lifting the wet cloth from Arthur’s chest so he could focus on Arthur’s gaze. “You never slept with her?”

“We didn’t do much more than kissing, some touching.”

“How come?”

Arthur shifted, feeling a sudden pull near his lower back, but he ignored that ache like he did the other ones, like he did most things like hefty scratches from especially aggressive bears or lucky cougars, or even bullets from minutely competent lawmen or rival gangs all so he could consider, really consider what John might think about women and relationships and… why. “Mary was raised by a proud man in a wealthy home. I wouldn’t want her to get in that way, and it’s just not proper to civilized folk.”

John rolled his eyes. “I am aware of what many civilized folks believe Arthur. I wasn’t born in a rock nor did you fish me out of one when you boys took me in. I just, I just didn’t know you believed that stuff.”

A huff escaped Arthur’s lips, one of equal parts annoyance and humor. “Ratio.” He said.

“Ratio?”

“It’s the word you were looking for when you were trying to tell me how many cold buckets and how many hot you needed to put in this.”

A smile stretched across John’s previously irritated features. “Should I ask you why that came up right now?”

“I was deciding on how I should respond to you reacting to me treating you like an ignorant idiot.”

“I thought Hosea, or maybe it was Dutch, said someone who is ignorant isn’t always an idiot.”

Arthur paused. “That, that might’ve been Trelawny.”

John snorted. “I never understood that man.”

Arthur shifted both their bodies while trying to find some relief for his hip. “I reckon I didn’t so much either. You might be right though.”

“So tell me again why you believed you needed to be married to sleep with her?”

Just like John to just trample over sensitive topics by demanding an answer like that. Arthur wasn’t sure he could exactly blame him. The gang certainly didn’t spend much time on manners, and John never got to see him or anyone else court proper like. “It’s not what she was expecting and… leaving her in a tender…”

“You mean pregnant.”

“Way.” Arthur spit it out through grit teeth. Patience, he reminded himself. This was John, his young lover, a man who would’ve proposed to him minutes ago if it could actually be something a man could do with another man, and of course beneath all of it was still his thick and not exactly quick-witted brother. 

“If she got that way, then she would’ve married you right, had to? Then you could’ve got what you wanted.”

“I didn’t want her because of that John. We’d both be miserable. I’d be cast out of the gang cause she weren’t ever going to follow us, and she’d never get the chance to accept me as I was after being shunned by everyone she knew.”

John fell silent, his brow furrowed in deep thought. “You would’ve found a way to work it out, like you always do Arthur. I think it’s pretty clear now Dutch would’ve killed us over letting us go or casting us out, like a couple of dogs he couldn’t control anymore.”

A heavy sigh escaped Arthur’s lips. John was getting at something, he realized, in his typical clumsy way. “John, why you wanting to know all this, talking about so much stuff with so much hurt behind it?”

“I just want to know what I gotta do so you think of me when you’re getting a nice scrub in the bath, for you to reach out and call for me when you’re sick. Find out what I need to change to be your… first. Figure a ring is a good reminder, so are vows you can fall on seeing how I might not remind you enough myself. Think Abigail relies on that, sometimes.” John admitted quietly, a frown setting in as he searched his memory.

And all that left Arthur speechless. 

John of course took that silence the wrong way. “I can change you know. I ain’t fast at it or anything. I mean I keep pushing you to do things different, but I figure you aren’t likely to push me to be different because that hasn’t been what you’ve done with anyone else. Well I mean different for you. You always pushed me to be different for others I guess, just not for what you wanted.”

Arthur objected. “You’ve done so much with me already John. It’s me that needs more changing than you do, and you are learning, real good even. I can’t say much about when I was sick, but just now…” He swallowed briefly, felt his cheek warm slightly. “I was thinking of you you inpatient little dumb ass. You’re the one that brought up Mary and asked about me bathing with others when I was thinking about my last bath and the night we shared.”

Of course John beamed. “You were?”

“Jesus.” Arthur brought a wet hand to cover his face for a moment. “I think about you all the damn time John. The way you kiss me and touch me, when we have sex, when I was shaving my fucking neck and trying to keep the biscuits from being too dry. I’m going to wind up thinking about you when I am on my horse named by YOU, and every time you ride your horse which you brought home in a hurry for me and Jack too. If I’m thinking of someone else, it’s only because I gotta take a break from having you on my mind sometimes else I wind up some drooling, pathetic idiot chained to a bed waiting for you to show up in my room every damn night.”

John laughed, way too pleased with himself. “I like the chained to the bed part, probably could handle the drool, but you’re no idiot.” And then came another kiss, hard, possessive, eager and Arthur’s cock betrayed his good sense and body again. And of course John noticed.

“Why don’t we cuddle for a little longer, not get the water dirty while it’s still hot, and then we can handle that?”

“Men don’t cuddle John.” The words escaped his mouth in a gruff rebuke before Arthur even thought about handling it differently.

Instead of answering, John scooched closer, wrapped his arms around Arthur’s neck and rested his head against a broad shoulder looking like he might just sleep like that. Hesitantly Arthur took the cloth from between them, drew the younger man even closer and worked the cloth up and down John’s back. Goddamn it, this was cuddling wasn’t it? As important as it was for Arthur to try and ease into settled life more than he had, it wouldn’t be too difficult to admit he was kind of terrified of going soft, of losing the most useful traits he thought he had but damn it if he didn’t like this. “John you gonna fall asleep on me?”

“Wake me when the water gets cold, and we can have some sex.”

“I thought you were wanting to take care of something.” Arthur whispered with no small amount of amusement in his voice.

“Are you offering now?” Came the easy question.

“Don’t want to dirty the water.”

“Then I stand by my request.”

Arthur released a happy sigh. Truth was, he didn’t want to change John too much anyway. He figured the way the man taxed his heart and body, well even a settled life with John Marston wasn’t turning out to be a boring one. And as afraid as he often was about what strange thing John might say or make him do, he kind of looked forward to it too, having that kind of interest and attention kept him eager for life, and maybe experiencing something new and pleasurable weren’t nothing to avoid. “Okay.”

John fell asleep first of course, and then Arthur and they slept well past the point where the water turned cold and the air frosty. It would be the second time in the cool season the two of them hurried in the night naked as they were born, this time to the house to get warm by the fire, clothes and boots held tight against their chest. They laughed like children as they did.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I could've ended this section with this piece but... there is one more scene I really wanted to do so.. hopefully some enjoy this chapter and will enjoy the next one too!


	8. Chapter 8 – Tranquility

John sat on the floor next to Arthur, his left knee raised and his right leg flat in front of him. He took a swig of whiskey, glanced at Arthur’s solemn face and sighed inwardly. He realized some time ago that his brother, his lover walked fine lines between remembering, brooding and falling into some dark cavern where he mourned and relived the most agonizing moments of his past, their past. The older man built a strong fire, helped them dry off so they could dress again and after a number of gleeful minutes and a short time John took to say goodnight to Abigail and Jack, there was this silence, this uneasy quietness between them. Even though Arthur whittled a simple stick Jack must have left in the room with no small amount of concentration and chose to sit closer to the fire like he was just killing time until going to sleep, John knew better. John understood an Arthur reflection session when he saw it. “You ever think about a perfect morning or a perfect evening?”

The sharp knife stilled before the light gaze met John’s. “Whatcha mean?”

“You know, the thing you do when you’re young and sitting around the camp at night, wondering what your future might be like, not like what it would really be like but if you could control it, all of it, everything.”

Arthur huffed and gave John one of his looks, the one that wondered if John maybe fell out of a tree and hit several stupid branches on the way down. “I never did that. Maybe I was never young.”

John frowned briefly but didn’t give up that easily. “Oh I know. You were probably born with a scowl on your face and a desire to hunt. It’s a game Arthur. Play with me.”

Arthur returned to whittling. “This game of yours doesn’t seem much fun.”

If John blinked at just the wrong moment, he would’ve missed the slight smirk, the hint of a smile that told him the blonde didn’t actually reject the idea nor was Arthur truly annoyed at the thought of it. He just was, well Arthur, so of course John had to push to get the wheel rolling. “If you could choose the rest of this night, what we were doing, where we were… how you felt, and me, what I was doing and felt what would be different?”

Arthur’s frown told him he considered the idea but maybe didn’t know how to start, so John tried another push.

“Would there be a fire?”

Blue eyes lifted from his work and looked at the fireplace. “Yes.”

This was going to be a long and challenging rest of their evening if all John pulled from the other man was a one word answer for each question. “What about the floor?”

“What about it?”

“Would it be different, bare wood like this? What about us sitting on it? Would you want that or maybe a chair? Would I be with you, next to you… quiet?” John tried a little tease with that last one.

This time Arthur put the stick down and focused on John more. He didn’t say it, but his eyes shouted either you’re not going to shut-up until I do this are you Marston or… this is important to you so I’ll play. John chose to believe the last one, definitely that other one was why Arthur responded. “There’d be a rug, a fur one, nice and thick. That fire there would be blazing, hotter because we’re not going to turn in any time soon. We’d have a nice big bottle of whiskey and some rum in case we run out.”

“No beer?”

“Not for this night.” Arthur replied quietly.

John grinned, he couldn’t help it. Maybe this wouldn’t do anything great, and certainly was no replacement for sex, but whatever sorrowful thoughts Arthur had moments ago at least left him for a little bit. 

Arthur continued. “We’d have one of those couches, not the pretty ones but the ones that feel nice when you sit on them. They don’t have arms or anything, just like a, a shape.” He paused. “Of course you’d be with me John, and you wouldn’t be quiet cause that ain’t you.”

John moved closer to Arthur. “That’s not how it works. The John you see in this night, well he’s your John, the way you want him to be. And you’re the way you want to be Arthur, even if that’s not how you are now.”

Blue eyes dropped to the floor for a moment. “We’d have a blanket even though the fire’s hot. You’d be quiet not because I’m making you be but cause you’re listening to one of my stories, one of the better ones, the interesting ones I ain’t told anyone. You’d have your head on my shoulder, just listening and I wouldn’t…” His mouth opened and then closed. Once Arthur did it again John placed a hand on his shoulder.

“Wouldn’t what Arthur?”

“I wouldn’t be looking back so much, regretting all that, wondering too much what I could’ve done differently to, to well fix things.” Arthur drew a deep breath, but as sad as those eyes looked, Arthur didn’t reach that point where John felt he had to pull him out, so he kept quiet. “I’m afraid John. You asked me in the stables that one night if I was a coward, and I got pretty mad at you for that, but the truth is… the truth is I am. I got hurt real bad, by people that loved me, people that said they loved me.” Arthur’s slight correction didn’t go unnoticed, and John made sure he’d store that for later. “And other people I thought was family... My first pa didn’t want much to do with me and the other one left me to die, didn’t really care I was sick and replaced me with someone he liked better. My woman…” Arthur grabbed his knife and stick again and just kept stripping it into nothing special. “I want to ask him why, but I know he’d spin a yarn as far as the eye could see. And…”

John placed a hand on Arthur’s knee to draw him back from the sorrow pooling around him. “And?”

“And I’m real afraid you gonna hurt me, hurt me real bad. I know that ain’t fair John. I know you’s haven’t done anything to earn that fear. I just, I just think I’d rather be dead then go through that. Ain’t no one ever really suggested they’d marry me as I am, just all the good and the bad. I just don’t know…” Arthur furrowed his brow and licked his lips. “I figure you’re the closest I’ve ever been with someone. I mean it’s just so much… deeper.”

“Did you build that wood shed to prove your worth to me?” John asked softly.

Arthur’s eyes rose again, but he didn’t say anything.

John continued. “See I thought you were building it to do something, to keep busy and as an excuse not to come inside with Abigail and Jack, to avoid letting them see you get more and more upset, avoid getting comfort as you always do. Then I got to thinking. What if you weren’t just hurt because you thought I wasn’t coming back, that maybe I’d just take off and leave you all knowing you’d be looking after mine? What if you knew I was coming back, and you wanted to prove to me you were worth coming back for when I did, that you could still do hard work on your own, that you contributed.” And he used that word purposefully too. That idea was pressed into his mind nearly as often as it was into Arthur’s only he didn’t let Dutch’s words sink so deep that it embedded in his heart like that, not the way Arthur took it. John no longer believed that family had to earn or risk being cast out because family didn’t cast each other out like that. It seemed like Arthur didn’t believe that either, but he was stuck, wedged into a place where he didn’t believe something but still acted to make sure that thing didn’t happen anyway.

Again Arthur didn’t say anything.

“Sometimes I think about waking up during a cold morning. I climb out of bed, a bed with you in it, and sneak out to do those chores that need doing. I come inside, eat breakfast with just Abigail and Jack, listen to my son talk nonsense about some book he read and then he gives me an excuse as to why he shouldn’t have to do work that day. I ignore him of course; then I grab a cup of coffee and a plate and rejoin you in bed. You’re still sleeping.” John clarified that point just in case Arthur began wondering if he was sick or something. “I get to run my fingers through your hair and down your cheek; you gradually wake up to the smell of food, actually LIKE my coffee, and you eat eggs that are nice and fluffy with sweet biscuits. While you eat I get to read you a week old newspaper like the stories just happened the day before. I don’t say a lot of words just right, and you don’t say anything about it because you’re eating your breakfast, and it’s good too. I take the dishes away, and you sleep some more.”

“Past breakfast?” Arthur asked with some amount of confusion.

“It’s well past noon when you climb out of that bed for the day, wash your face.” John confirmed. “By now I’m coming to check on you; you’ve got your beard just past the length I like, so you let me shave you, press the blade right against your skin to get the sensitive parts around your throat, but you don’t bat an eye because you trust me, and really, well you love the attention. I don’t see you again until dinner time, and I don’t mind at all cause I know you’re in our home, your room, resting and writing or drawing up a storm in that journal of yours. Eventually you join us for dinner, make some remark to my son about how dumb I was when I was a kid, and I’ll just be sitting there pretending to be all mad, but really I’m just amazed you remember that much detail at all. And then I kick myself because of course you do; you were looking after me nearly all my life and there ain’t no easy way to save me if you don’t pay me any mind.” 

John gave Arthur a warm smile at this point, noticing how he’s captured his lover’s full attention to the point where the knife nearly dropped out of those powerful hands of his. “I send you to your room, tell you to turn in early cause I can do that; it’s my dream. I do my night chores and probably drop the horses’ brush once or twice because I’m standing there hoping you’ll almost fall asleep, that light dozing thing you sometimes do when sitting against a tree, where your head drops and you lift it again fighting sleep. I want you almost asleep Arthur, so I can sneak up on you by the foot of the bed, get under the covers, and nuzzle your crotch, suck you dry and hear you fight those gasps and moans threating to escape so that you do finally cry out even the horses snicker down at the stables cause you’re so loud. And because it’s my dream Arthur, we’re fucking for hours, like until our legs and knees are too weak to hold us anymore. Some invisible man gets to clean up the bedding real fast, so I don’t have to do it, and we get to go to sleep right then and there. As I sleep Arthur, I am going to tell all them ghosts up there see… I gave it to him. I gave him that day, a day of rest, and he ain’t wounded or sick, no one is worrying about him gone missing or anything; we weren’t running neither nor needing to stay low. And you know what Arthur?”

“You bout to tell me the world didn’t end cause I rested a day?” Arthur guessed with a weak smile.

“No. When you woke up, we both missed breakfast cause you were so relaxed the day before we get to go at it first thing in the morning too.”

Arthur chuckled and shook his head. “I think you’re overplaying your hand there Marston, running around telling everyone how young and needy you are.”

John grinned widely. “It’s my dream, not yours. I’m so damn young and strong you brag about me to others, pointing at me saying see that young buck there, he’s mine.”

“If I weren’t fraid of us hanging or drawing too much attention to ourselves, I’d probably tell others we were together, and I still don’t know how that managed to happen.”

“Hey this is my dream.” John objected. “So you know why I’m with you in my dream. You know that there isn’t anyone else in this world I’d tell that I’m so scared of wolves I could soil myself. There’s no one else that I can tell that sometimes I look at Jack, and I feel like I am going to be sick, sick because I’m so worried about doing it all wrong, ruining him like was done with us.” John paused. “You’re the only one that knows that no matter how many times I tell you I’d shoot Dutch dead if I ever saw him again, you know it ain’t so.”

Arthur swallowed thickly. “There are younger… better and younger men out there. They’ll be able to shoot faster, ride harder, and just do things well I can’t anymore. You know you’re not stuck…”

“Oh believe me if Micah came even close to my bed I’d cut his cock right off and hammer it to the fucking wall.” John hissed darkly, for a moment forgetting he didn’t intend to share with Arthur that his rage still simmered too close to his heart. “A faster draw, a boot-licking wagging tongue, and a greed infested parasite is not better Arthur. Besides, I told you, I don’t go around looking for other men. I’m not even really sure I like men all that much. It’s you I want, and not the younger you I remember, or the one without all the scars you can and can’t see. It’s the one that keeps sticking me on horses with other people so we can run off safe while you stay behind a little and fight, protect us. It’s the one that threw me over his shoulders even though you didn’t like me very much and hauled me through the snow. It’s the one that stood up to Dutch, risked everything so I could sit in this house and stare at a fire with my wife and kid in another room feeling safe. Arthur there ain’t no better than you, not for me.”

The blonde took a deep breath. “We still dreaming or we talking truths now?”

“Arthur, there are truths in dreams, and you spent a lot of the last year or so dreaming up what you wanted my truth to be. Maybe you just saw an end to you. Maybe that’s what was supposed to happen but it didn’t.”

Blue eyes dropped to his knife and stick, both lying on the floor, forgotten by both of them. “When it was just the three of us, he would call me son. I knew it was too soon even then for it to mean anything, but I liked it, liked it a lot. The years kept going by, and after a while I thought… and then you came around. He did the same thing, but you were like a little brother forced upon me, and it seemed to work then too. Once the others, more kept coming well… I told lots of folks there weren’t nothing special about me. Dutch would say things like you’re more than a son to me, and I knew better than to believe him but I did anyway. I, I believed him John. I thought you believed it, same as me.” It seemed as close to rambling as Arthur allowed himself to be, not really knowing how to say what he wanted to say but trying anyway.

John reached over and lightly touched his wrist to discourage him from whittling again, to keep focus, and remain there with him. “He was right Arthur; you’re special, special to me and everyone in this house and to the folks I’d want to stay or visit in it. It hurt real bad to have him turn against me, against you. It was like… I don’t know how to describe it real well either. You still held out hope for him in the end, so I guess we felt something a little different. You believe him about, about how bad people is, civilization and all?”

Light eyes became attentive on him and a tense, threatening voice sounded from the other man’s throat. “Someone hurt you?”

John felt a shiver up his back. God help him. If he wasn’t going to hell for killing and robbing and fighting he might be headed there after feeling like he really wanted to see what this Arthur might do to a person he thought hurt him. Sure he killed those fellas at the stream, but it was quick, not a hunt, not a track down and finish them sort of approach at all. No real rage from Arthur. “No, no. I met a woman in town she, she helped and then didn’t want anything for it. I sort of told you about her before, but it was… well it was different.”

Arthur visibly relaxed, and that dark shadow, the lingering threat vanished as quickly as it revealed itself. “John, you must’ve met some nice people in your life.”

“Not as many as you, not with stories like you have, have in your journal. The circus man, the photographer, the black doctor.” John frowned slightly. “I’d have a hard time even coming up with a specific example.”

Arthur moved closer to John and placed his hand around the younger man’s shoulder. He leaned forward and actually planted a gentle kiss where his neck and shoulder met. “They rarely start out as stories. Tell me what happened.”

John sat up a little straighter, hoping he might be able to tell his short tale with some comparison with how Arthur wrote about his in that journal. “When I got the doctor’s store there was no one in there. I really thought about breaking in the window and just taking it. I really did because I couldn’t wait too long, so I started looking around the place, you know, kind of casing it out. This Mrs. Greene showed up. Apparently I had a few drinks with her husband, and I don’t really remember him. He remembered me; I guess enough to describe me so she recognized me, offered to get the doctor’s sisters for me. He was out helping someone else.” John took a breath. “Well she said about an hour, and I needed the rest, so did Quick Speed, so I took a nap and when I woke up she said the sister ran from me, didn’t like the look of me or something, but she got the medicine in a bag with instructions and everything, wrote me in the ledger to pay the doctor later and that was that. She didn’t ask for anything, expect anything. It was… weird. They trusted me to pay later, didn’t demand anything for her effort, real strange.”

Arthur smiled. “I’ve met a lot of nice folks and a lot of bad. Maybe she just wanted to help someone, someone who might be around for a while. You’re a part of their people now John, part of a real community.”

“Then how come you keep telling me we’re not like them.”

“We won’t ever be exactly like them, not too trusting, too quick to violence but…”

“But?”

“Maybe we can try to be more like them, be liked by them.”

“So Dutch is wrong maybe. Civilization isn’t all bad.” John decided.

“He wasn’t wrong about everything, but he was still wrong bout a lot of things.” Arthur admitted. 

“And you still love him?”

Arthur sighed and leaned his head against John’s shoulder. “I don’t think I can ever stop that. I’m glad I came here John. He wouldn’t be any good for me, just more death, more dying, more… hurt.” A long paused followed. “This is better than any dream or perfect night I could manage to make for myself. I didn’t know it could be like this. John, I’m sorry. I, I should’ve got you out before it was too late, and I’m afraid I’m just, just broken. I might always have… moments shit hours of weakness.”

John raised his hand to Arthur’s short hair and dropped it to the nape of his neck, massaging gently. “We don’t have to pretend nothing good came from all those years before. I ain’t asking that. Just try to be here with me, here now, more. It’ll make your heart less sad, and it ain’t too late. Maybe we got some time we shouldn’t have because of your magical man; we’re here now. And that ain’t weakness, it’s just catching up on twenty years of feeling things you wouldn’t let yourself feel before.” John paused. “You wanna rest out here by the fire? I know you like being by fires.”

Arthur lifted his head, looked real hopeful and with a young gaze too, almost like five or six years were shaved off his life just now. “Can we?”

“It’s my house. We can do damn well what we like…” John chuckled as he caught those fine eyes. “Well so long as Abigail won’t give me hell for it. How about you add wood to the fire, and I’ll get the blankets, even be real careful with your fur?”

Arthur nodded.

By the time he got back, Arthur had the fire roaring, had found some blankets for the floor and looked just a little too eager for John’s arrival. The man sure loved campfires, maybe it seemed too stupid to Arthur and others to camp on land a man owned, but he thought maybe, just maybe they might do that some time, even with Jack on occasion, just pitch a tent outback. It seemed to relax the larger man so much even though he could see some lingering stiffness.

John kneeled by Arthur and placed a hand on his shoulder. “You wanna see something I kind of learned on my year away.”

Suspicion immediately settled in his lover’s eyes but so did a hint of willingness. “Is it going to… hurt and do I leave my clothes on or off?”

If it didn’t involve torture, gunshot wounds or mauling, John was pretty sure Arthur wouldn’t avoid pain too hard, so he figured that question was meant to see what John might’ve experienced before. As for the clothes, well John just grinned. He wanted it, sure, but not tonight, not when Arthur still moved like he did. “Not as much as you’re hurting right now. Arthur, you’re real good, probably the best con I’ve ever seen from you, trying to hide the fact that your back hurts, your shoulders aren’t right, and your neck is stiff.”

Arthur sighed briefly and looked away.

John continued. “It’s just going to keep tightening up, and the fact you’re not even willing to take just a little medicine for pain…”

“That should be saved for being shot, or breaking a bone or maybe…”

“Or maybe men who work themselves into the ground and won’t admit it until they can’t climb out of bed one day.” John snapped quietly. “Get your shirt off and lie belly down on the blankets there. I’ll show you. You’ll like it in the end.”

Arthur pursed his lips but carefully and too slowly worked his shirt off, pausing to conceal a hiss of a pain when he turned just the wrong way. “You say that an awful lot John.”

“And I ain’t been wrong yet have I?” Once Arthur was on his belly, John grabbed a pillow from nearby for Arthur’s head and climbed over him. He partially rested his weight again the man’s covered ass and thighs. Clearly Arthur had no intention of responding to his question, so John just leaned forward and with both hands began to massage Arthur’s shoulders near and also on his neck. Whenever he pressed real firm like, Arthur tensed and hissed but then relaxed again. The man was so tight, the muscles stuck knotted together but gradually eased up with each press of his fingers. Once that area felt looser, he went over and also down, going for his shoulders and focusing on his spine, feeling the bones there under his coarse finger tips. 

“Abigail teach you this?”

John huffed. “No. No she doesn’t know everything. I learned from someone else.” Arthur looked like he was about to try and look at him so John gave his man a little too firm squeeze. “Don’t you go messing up my work so quickly Arthur Morgan. Ask your questions but close your eyes and stay relaxed.” And he waited for compliance before continuing too.

“Who then?”

“I went to a little camp not far from a new set of tracks. Smoked a little, a lot, met some women.”

“Chinese?”

“Yeah. I didn’t understand much of what they said, but the girls there were real nice and didn’t cost much.”

Oh John knew Arthur rejected the very idea of going to a place like that, probably wanted to say something now except maybe, just maybe he wanted to hear about his year away more than he wanted to lecture him, this time.

“They were, were nice to you?” Arthur’s voice sounded less tense and even a little sleepy. Maybe John’s attempt actually worked. He’d never tried this before, but seeing how much effort Arthur put into hiding his pain, well he knew he had to do something.

“A lot of people are nice when you have money Arthur.”

“And when you didn’t?”

“At least I knew how to set up camps outside the cities and towns, how to hunt some, forage a little.” John paused and sat back, admiring the strength in Arthur’s back as well as the shape of his body as he considered how to say what he wanted to say next. “I wasn’t about to find another gang to run with. I didn’t mean to betray anyone. I just wanted to see, see more of the world, and experience things as a man without someone telling me what to do all the time or trying to stop me from doing stupid things.”

“And how’d that go for you?”

John laughed. “I did a lot of stupid things, met some real bad people, and got hurt some too.” He went back to work, focusing on Arthur’s lower back this time. The man tensed up underneath him, gasped suddenly and then buried his face in the pillow underneath him. Oh he was trying to conceal that pain real good this time, maybe even mask his tears. Damn it. Even John didn’t realize he hurt himself this bad. “You should’ve told me Arthur. You helped me unload that wagon when you were like… like this.”

“We don’t have anyone else John.” Arthur whispered, a tremble in his voice. “To help you.”

“There ain’t a damn thing in that wagon that was more important than you Arthur. It could’ve waited.” John licked his bottom lip. “I don’t, I don’t understand how you can hide this like you do. I…” He frowned trying to think of all the times Arthur and others tended to him, helped him, and then wondered how often they should’ve done the same for Arthur and didn’t, didn’t even know he needed it. 

After a few minutes of getting attention to his back, Arthur’s body eased up under his fingertips and the man spoke again. “And the fella that taught you the things you know with, being with other men?”

John pushed some hair out of his face and chuckled. “How long you’ve been waiting to ask me more about that?”

“John…

“I met a couple of nice guys and some not as nice; one of them had some money too.”

“You rob him?”

John shook his head and remembered Arthur couldn’t see him like this. “No. No I didn’t. It wouldn’t have been right to rob him. I knew Dutch, even Hosea would’ve liked it if I did, been real proud if I told them about it too.”

“What stopped you?”

“The sex was good, even a little… well I learned somethings, but I didn’t fit in. His friends were assholes, real smug, treated me like a mongrel or something. One of them challenged me. I warned him, even when we were standing in the street. He drew on me, and I was faster, a lot faster. After he was down, I realized no one was really rooting for me, even though I hadn’t done anything wrong, done anything worth dying for. Well cept to the fella I just killed anyway, weren’t no contest. My ahh, well lover told me after all that that once I softened up, after I cleaned-up, they’d forgive me one day.”

Arthur sighed softly, looking tranquil, almost serene and half-asleep, but he was listening, of course he was. “He wanted to change you so you left?”

“Worse. I realized I didn’t care what he thought or any of them for that matter. I didn’t want their forgiveness, didn’t need it. I left in the night. He wasn’t in love Arthur. He just liked the idea of being around an outlaw, being with an outlaw but didn’t really want an actual outlaw. I don’t know. Maybe that doesn’t make much sense.” John smirked. “You really wanted to know more about some guy I played with instead of the weeks I spent at a camp with the Chinese.”

“You knew how I felt about you boys getting drunk or taking things that would pull you out of your minds with a bunch of strangers. You’re lucky they didn’t kill you and take all your stuff, being alone as you were, no one to miss you.”

John huffed. “They was nice. Those city fellas were hell of a lot worse. I’ll make this easy for your Arthur. If you or anyone else told me not to do it, you can bet your last dollar that I probably did it while I was away. Sure, I regretted lots of it. There’s still one night I don’t even remember, but apparently I got paid real good for it.”

Arthur partially turned, just sort of twisted his once pained back to peer at him. “You were always rebellious. I just didn’t get why Dutch rewarded you for it all those times but mostly punished me when even talking back, little as I did that.”

“He thought he wanted someone more like him in the gang, like me, but he didn’t. You were raised to believe what he said, and you practiced what he said he wanted even when he stopped doing that himself. And when he got someone that tried to think ahead and big, but I wasn’t so good at it as he used to be, and he got someone real strong able like you, he just wound up eating up words from a boot licker. Hosea, well I guess he tried to calm him some cause as soon as he was gone what strings were left were cut right off, and he drove that wagon right off a cliff every time he could didn’t he?” John leaned forward and kissed Arthur right against the temple. “You’re fighting sleep Arthur. Don’t. I’m going to keep rubbing, loosening you up. Just know when you do fall asleep I’ll be sleeping right with you.” Another smirk formed even though John’s words remained quite serious. “And don’t do this again. I’ll show you just like I’ve shown Jack, lots of punishments out there that won’t leave a mark.”

John continued just like he said, using the tips of his fingers to push firm into taunt muscles while his palm ran along the older man’s sides. He didn’t say it when Arthur was awake, but this was near as perfect a night as he could imagine one could be too, minus the sex. He should’ve got some of that but he figured once his lover woke up and got some food in him, when they went to the stables to feed all them animals, he’d get a chance to press a real limber Arthur right up against the wall, work his hand down the man’s pants, get him off real quick, feel that big cock and balls of his captured in his fingers as he found release, and then he’d have a real compliant stud on his hands for the rest of the morning. Arthur Morgan wasn’t the only one able to tame a stallion; he’d remind him of that soon enough. But right now, in this moment, he got to climb alongside the other man, join him under the fur and just marvel at the fact that he, lil ole John Marston got to finally show Arthur something he couldn’t even imagine, life after the gang, and a life so good Arthur was sorry he didn’t push for it sooner. Maybe he wouldn’t shoot Dutch dead if he ever saw him again, maybe a trigger with a bullet weren’t ever going to give him any sort of satisfaction but the real kill shot, that’d be telling the man that not only did Arthur go to him over their failed leader, if they could go back, he’d choose him even sooner than that if he could. And that thought alone left John feeling all too serene himself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah so this piece kind of had two endings, or at least two points I could've stopped. I really wanted to do this one though as a bit of more precise closing to the first chapter... even if it is just a tad wordy. 
> 
> Thank you for reading. I am sure I will return to this series when another scene inspires me to do so.

**Author's Note:**

> It might have seem like even a weirder start because I started with Arthur and Abigail, but I really wanted that so the event could be seen from three different positions. Anyway I hope you enjoyed start just the same. I have a specific scene i want for this piece too and nope, it's not in this chapter.


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